Veil
by PsiRadish
Summary: At the age of 10 a fiercely independent recluse met a spirited redhead. Sister is what they soon called each other. The word was given to them, but the meaning they gave it would be their own. Baldur's Gate 1 story with a budding PC&Imoen romance.
1. Fire

**Disclaimer/Acknowledgements:** Baldur's Gate and Stuff belongs to Bioware and Wizards of the Coast and Stuff. This story is inspired by the Imoen Romance mod for Baldur's Gate 2 by Lord Mirrabbo (which can be found at imoen dot org), though with some significant deviation (particularly since the mod is for BG2 and I'm starting from the beginning of BG1).

**Chapter 1 - Fire**

_To My Dear Distinguished Colleagues:_

The Child we are calling Veil – an alias strong with symbology, I'm sure; give yourself a pat on the back whoever thought of it – has shown little change in the past month. She continues to spend most of her time climbing on top of anything she can or occasionally running circles through Candlekeep when brought outside. Though she has yet to overtly show any emotion, I believe she enjoys these activities, and if I were to speculate I think they may be a celebration of the freedom she was denied when in the care of the priesthood of the dead one. I am no psychologist, however, as a few of you are so fond of reminding me.

She still reacts little to being spoken to, barely acknowledging the presence of others at all, other than as another thing to climb on top of – much to the consternation of some and amusement of many. It is of course worrisome if she never improves, but for now I believe she is managing remarkably well for a child raised as she was by priests of the dead one.

She has yet to begin breathing fire or emit paralyzing rays from her eyes, so Galvarey may relax for now. Rest assured I will notify you as soon as such phenomenon occur.

Sincerely,  
Gorion

* * *

"I'm gonna miss you," Imoen sniffled, tears running down her cheeks as she said goodbye to her best friend and sister, looking like she could barely contain the desire to break down and sob. 

Mijandra suspected her own acting was not nearly as good. She knew full well Imoen had every intention of following them, and it was only with great effort that she kept herself from grinning, let alone managed to look particularly sad. "I'll miss you, too," she choked out.

"Now now, Imoen, there's no need for that. Why, Mijandra here hardly seems upset at all," Gorion said. "I'm sure you'll see each other again quite soon, hmm?" _He's on to us._

"Really?" Imoen asked, continuing the act as she turned wet eyes towards him. Mijandra, however, could not hide her grin any longer.

"Really," Gorion said simply, without a twitch of the mouth or twinkle in the eye to give away he knew anything. It seemed Mijandra was the only bad actor between the three of them.

"Why ya gotta go, anyway?" Imoen asked genuinely.

"Someone did try to kill me, Im," Mijandra answered. Gorion's hand tightening slightly on her shoulder told her that wasn't the answer he would have given. Which was exactly why she answered first. Gorion would have given Imoen the same evasive answers he'd been feeding Mijandra, and Mijandra was getting a little tired of them.

Reminded of the assassination attempt, Imoen's face became worried, flickering briefly with determination. She was all the more certain to follow them now. _Silly girl can't learn to stay out of trouble_, Mijandra sighed mentally. Mijandra was grateful, though. She knew she wouldn't survive long without Imoen's company. Gorion probably knew it, too. 

"Not to worry, Imoen, Mijandra will be safe. Though the sooner we leave the better," Gorion said.

"She better be safe, or you'll answer to me," Imoen scowled at Gorion, before cracking a grin and turning to Mijandra, the sobbing farewell act completely forgotten. "Love ya, sis. See ya soon," she said, giving her sister a kiss.

"I love you, too, Im," Mijandra answered before turning and walking to the gates of Candlekeep behind her foster father.

* * *

"Mijandra, we are in an ambush."

Sword and dagger filled Mijandra's hands in an instant. She mentally cursed herself as her eyes darted over the surrounding forest. She was an elf and an aspiring rogue. Seasoned adventurer that he may be, it was unpleasantly humbling that Gorion had detected an ambush, in the dark no less, before she did.

"I know you are there, show yourselves!" Gorion called into the forest. Furiously scanning the forest as she was, Mijandra spotted them as soon as they started moving.

Fire. His eyes were fire. They drew her in almost immediately. She had only the barest moment to observe two ogres and grotesque armor before all she could see, all she could sense at all, were his eyes.

She felt them pulling. Pulling her into his skull, where the fire burned all the hotter, where it engulfed her. Engulfed her and called to her. Called to her in whispers and song. 

Distantly she noticed his eyes turn away, to focus on her foster father. They began speaking. She could hear them, but could not focus well enough to comprehend their words. She could still feel his eyes. The memory of them continued to call to her.

And she felt something inside her answer.

She shut her eyes, not expecting it to help, wishing she could shut her ears as well. To her surprise his fiery eyes disappeared in the darkness behind her eyelids, but the whispers continued, grew louder. Whispers inside her now. They beckoned her to open her eyes again. When she did his eyes did not return, but neither did her vision.

She saw darkness all around her. Darkness greater than any she had ever known, yet even in it there were shades. Shades in the shape of trees, and grass, and leaves, and ogres. Flecks of red moved through the darkness, seeming to concentrate where the shadows were lightest. But more than flecks covered the shape of the man with eyes of fire. 

Like a second armor, like a lover, the red encased him, embraced him. More than mere color, the red covering him took on substance. A pulsing, living mass of veined red crystal. It was beautiful.

Gorion's voice cut through her fascination. "Run daughter, get out of here!"

She did. She ran. She ran as fast as she could. Ran from the eyes of fire. Tried to run from the whispers echoing in her mind. Tried to run from the black and the red, and the white that was now ground and sky. Barely dodging trees and branches, almost jumping from the icy sensation of stepping into a puddle, indistinguishable to her sight from the dry ground around it.

She fell hard onto her shoulder when her keen ears picked up the gurgling scream of a dying ogre. But it was not the scream her ears heard that made her fall, but the scream that tore through her mind along with it. She desperately pulled herself up, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, only to fall again as another ogre died and another scream stabbed at her.

She pulled herself up once more, and this time managed to start running again. And keep running. She listened to the pounding of her feet, gained comfort from it, comfort from the normality of hearing to counter the madness in her sight. As she counted the fortieth footfall colors began to return and the whispers fade. Joy filled her at the thought that everything was returning to normal.

Her joy vanished as another death stabbed through her, and she blacked out completely before hitting the ground.

* * *

"Feldurking mage." Sarevok held his side as he limped away from the body of Gorion. "I've got to find some magic resistance," he grumbled as he pulled himself onto a horse. He was in no condition now to go chasing through the woods after some spry elven tart. He grudgingly guided the horse onto the road going east and began thinking of who he would take out his frustration on. 


	2. Can't

**Chapter 2 – Can't**

_To My Dear Distinguished Colleagues:_

Veil is coming out of her shell. 

She's been responding to her name for some time now, but now responds to many other words as well, such as meal-time summons and bath-time summons (though with the tendency to turn the other way and begin running at the latter). It matters little who speaks to her, she responds equally well to all.

She speaks herself as well, though so far only to me, and only in response to greetings and other courtesies. She answers my every hello without fail, as well as good mornings, good evenings, and good nights. Curiously, though, she returns every one with, "Hello," including the good nights.

She was seen smiling during play for the first time three mornings ago, though I have yet to see it myself as it is still a somewhat rare occurrence. I did however witness a smile as I showed her the view from the highest tower of Candlekeep. I do believe I heard a sound of complaint as I led her away for lunch, as well.

As you-/ Forgive the scribble there, but the subject of this very writing, after consistently refusing to be deterred from climbing the back of my chair, had quite suddenly chosen to further climb halfway over the top of my head and quite rudely tug on my mustache before flashing a smile that I challenge my detractors to see and still treat remaining unattached as a simple matter. I'm certain I heard a giggle, as well.

And that's as fine a note as ever to end this correspondence on.

Sincerely,  
Gorion

* * *

Mijandra awoke to disorienting comfort. Flashes of memory came to her, memories of running, memories of panic, memories of black and red and white and fire. Now she was laying on a bedroll with a blanket over her and arms wrapped gently around her from behind, as the sounds of morning graced her ears.

A part of her knew she was safe, knew these arms and that there was no danger from them. But with the memories of the previous night holding a grip on her mind, she reacted on instinct.

She rolled away from her "captor", and attempted to follow the roll onto her feet where she would quickly turn with blades drawn and ready. But in an exceedingly rare moment of clumsiness, likely caused by the similarly rare recent awakening from a state of unconsciousness, she became tangled in the blanket and tripped onto her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She soon felt hands on her, trying to roll her over as she fought against them with what power she had left.

"Heya, hey! It's me, Imoen!" 

The voice and words brought precious color to perceptions stark with fear, and returned Mijandra to lucidity at last. "Imoen," she wheezed almost reverently, allowing herself to be turned over before pulling the girl down and holding her tightly, coughing as this did little to help her wayward breath.

"Careful!" Imoen admonished from Mijandra's shoulder before answering. "Yeah, Imoen. Who did you think it was?"

Mijandra didn't answer and just continued to hold her. She hadn't realized before in the almost tedious serenity of Candlekeep just how soothing Imoen's presence could be.

"Gorion." The thought came suddenly. _Where is he?_

Imoen looked away from Mijandra's questioning eyes, Mijandra releasing her as she moved to sit up. "He…," she began slowly.

"Dead," Mijandra finished for her. She already knew it inside. She'd felt it. That last jolt before she blacked out. It had been Gorion. She closed her eyes as unaccustomed moisture rose in them. "Where?" she almost whispered.

"That way," Imoen pointed. Mijandra turned to stare in that direction for several moments, until Imoen finally spoke again. "We should probably go back there. You dropped your weapons when you ran." She frowned at herself for such senseless stupidity as Imoen helped her to her feet. "It should be safe, the…guy in the armor got beat up pretty good. I don't think he's coming back for a while."

Mijandra kicked the blanket away angrily, more at the mention of the armored man than the humiliation the blanket had caused, before glancing over their modest campsite. A bedroll under some trees not far from the road, a now thoroughly wrinkled blanket lying in the roots of one, her bow and quiver of arrows leaning alongside Imoen's against another, two packs inbetween them carrying supplies and a second bedroll.

Mijandra grabbed the blanket again and began shaking it out as she asked Imoen, "So you stayed behind long enough to watch him leave?" 

"Of course," Imoen answered as they gathered their things. "I had to cover your escape."

Mijandra froze. "You…?" She took a deep breath. "If he followed me, you would have tried to fight him." 

"Yeah," Imoen shrugged with false casualness, clearly wishing she'd stopped at "of course" now.

"He would have killed you!" Mijandra not quite shouted, but it was rare for her to even raise her voice at all.

"The face of his helmet was open. I could have—" She was cut short as Mijandra pulled her into a crushing embrace.

"Imoen," her voice was firm in the girl's ear. "I can't loose you. I **can't**." She fought to maintain that firmness, fought to speak clearly at all as the mere thought of what might have…what **would** have happened brought her to the edge of hysterics.

"Okay," Imoen whispered. "I'm sorry." Mijandra felt a drop of moisture between her neck and shoulder. Imoen sniffed and lifted her head to look into Mijandra's eyes, the path of the tear that fell glistening on one cheek. "Just know that that goes for you, too." 

Mijandra kissed her then, longer and harder than she knew was sisterly. It was not the first time she had pushed that barrier, though it was the farthest. Much as the other times, however, when she pulled away Imoen did not seem to have minded. Or, on the other hand, noticed.

Mijandra turned to her things against the tree and gathered them up, Imoen following suit. She positioned the quiver on her back and tested her bow, telling herself she should at least be glad she wasn't defenseless. The bow was not her favorite weapon. "Why didn't you get my weapons after he left?" she asked as they began walking north.

Imoen raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding right?" She gave Mijandra only a brief moment to respond before continuing. "I don't have night vision, you dork, and I'm not going to go feeling around for a knife and a sword in the dark! Especially with as religiously as you sharpen yours." 

Mijandra paused, almost managing to smile as she savored Imoen's light-hearted banter. Briefly she could forget the present, forget the danger they were in and the task before them, forget that she was walking to the place where Gorion had died and his body still lay.

"Uh…sorry…," Imoen said quietly, realizing her usual irreverence was a bit out of place. 

"No. I thank you," Mijandra responded. 

Imoen looked confused for a moment before smiling slightly. "No problem."

They walked in silence for a time before Imoen spoke up again. "Oh, speaking of…all that. Um…" Imoen fidgeted with her bow as she tried to find the words. "Why did you run like that?" Mijandra turned a questioning frown at her. "I-I'm not calling you a coward, I'm glad you ran actually, but…I dunno, the way you acted, right from the start, and again when you woke up…I've never seen you scared like that before. I've never seen **anyone** scared like that before. And I know it would take a lot more than two ogres and a guy with a big sword to scare you **at all**."

Black, white, and red flickered across Mijandra's vision and then was gone so quickly she thought she might have imagined it. She fought a shiver nonetheless, before trying to think of how to answer Imoen's question. "His…eyes…"

She stalled again on how to continue, and Imoen frowned in confusion. "They were pretty spooky…," she said gently, apparently wondering if that was really all there was to it and trying not to be condescending. 

"They were in my head." That got Imoen's attention. "Or I was in his. They…talked to me. And I couldn't understand it, but…"

"That happened to you, too…?" Imoen breathed.

Mijandra frowned. "What?"

"I thought I heard something, too, after I saw his eyes. They kinda, I dunno…seemed to jump at me, too, first." Imoen's mouth twisted to the side self-consciously. "But after I shook my head it was gone."

Mijandra sighed in both relief and envy. "Well, it didn't go away for me. I couldn't understand…whatever I was hearing, but it felt like…something inside me did, and was…waking up. Then everything started changing colors, and-" She shook her head as her vision flickered again. "And then Gorion told me to run." 

"That's…pretty weird," Imoen said, her eyes concerned. "You're okay now, though, right?"

She sighed. "Yeah, I'm-" Her vision did not just flicker this time. For some reason she counted. Almost four seconds. For almost four seconds she stared at Imoen through the darkness, saw every detail of her face in shades of pitch black, framed by white hair that was black and red at the roots. And something else that vanished when she looked directly at it. A dim light flickering behind her eyes; far behind her eyes; a vast and uncrossable distance. A light that felt familiar.

Then her vision returned to normal and she could see only the worry on Imoen's face. "Mijandra?"

"I'm…fine," she said. "I'm fine." Mijandra did her best to ignore the doubt on Imoen's face as she turned away, keeping her eyes in front of her for the rest of the short distance to the clearing.

Though that posed its own challenges as the clearing came into view, along with the bloody white-robed figure lying in it.

It seemed in no time at all she was standing over him. But it was an even shorter time that she could still remain standing, and soon she was sitting on her legs by his side. Her eyes moved easily over his wounds, even the great killing strike that had opened his chest. It was his face that was difficult to look upon. It was his face, with its vacant eyes and sagging mouth that took in no breath, that made it most clear that he was dead. She could distance herself from it no longer. 

"Father…" It was the first time she'd called him that in years. On her eleventh birthday, when the frustration of being an elf raised by humans and Gorion's continued refusal to speak anything of her true parents came to a head, she told him she refused to call a human her father anymore. By the time she grew up enough to rethink the decision Gorion was what they were both used to. And now…now he was dead.

She was crying, she observed. Sobbing. Something she could never recall doing before. She continued for some time, whimpering apologies and regrets with a tongue made clumsy from sadness, her words incomprehensible to even herself. Imoen was holding her before long, crying with her, sharing her grief as they seemed to share everything else.

Mijandra was relieved when the tears finally receded. Crying like this, losing all control of her lungs and throat as she choked on moan after moan; it was a horrible experience she never wanted to repeat. Nonetheless, she took the risk of lifting her head from Imoen's shoulder to look once again on her father's face.

With her sorrow abated she now had room for anger. "I'll kill him."

"What?" Imoen asked as she wiped her eyes.

"The man in the armor. I'll kill him."

"I'll help," Imoen answered after a sniffle. Then she suddenly lifted her head and turned Mijandra's so they were forehead-to-forehead. "But don't you go thinking we can do it right away, got it? We're still just kids with sticks right now."

Mijandra nodded as best she could with their heads pressed together. "Throwing my life away would be poor service to my father's memory." She placed a hand against Imoen's neck, where her thumb began to make small circles. "And I can't lose **you**."

The emphasis on the words was intentional, its meaning clear. Probably not the kind of sentiment Gorion would have preferred spoken over his body, but he would have understood nonetheless. Losing her father hurt, but Mijandra would survive. Losing Imoen would hurt far worse, and she was certain it would kill her.

Mijandra watched Imoen's eyes as her words sunk in. She saw them close, and felt Imoen's lips touch her own. It was a much softer kiss than Mijandra had given earlier, yet still something more than a kiss between sisters. 

Mijandra did not mind. Nor, on the other hand, let on that she had noticed afterward.


	3. Comedy

**Chapter 3 - Comedy**

_To My Dear Distinguished Colleagues:_

Veil has learned that she is an elf. As you know her interests for the past two years have extended little beyond what has become a daily physical regimen of running, climbing, and balance excercises. With the discovery of her race this seems to have changed almost overnight.

She is now fascinated by anything to do with elves. She begs to be taught more of them, and has begun to show an interest in her reading lessons with the promise that they will allow her to learn more of elves on her own. And she will now properly speak with others besides myself, provided the subject of conversation is elves.

It will not surprise any of you to know that this pleases me to no end, and I sincerely hope it is only the beginning of an expanding interest in the world around her. I eagerly await the opportunity to relate any further subjects she chooses to take up in the future.

Sincerely,  
Gorion

* * *

Mijandra reached into Gorion's pocket and removed his coin purse. She stared at it a moment before turning her eyes to his shoulder, his face still difficult to look upon. "Thank you, father," she said. If he could have given his consent he would have, and as far as Mijandra was concerned he had handed her the coins himself, an act she would not allow to go unacknowledged. She had taken far too much for granted already.

"There should be a letter in his inside pocket," Imoen said behind her. Mijandra wordlessly began to search for it, the specifics of how Imoen came by this information being both insignificant under the circumstances and rather obvious given the many feats of espionage they had shared over the years. She found it shortly, unfolding it as Imoen looked over her shoulder, the both of them reading it together.

_My friend Gorion,_

Please forgive the abruptness with which I now write, but time is short and there is much to be done. What we have long feared may soon come to pass, though not in the manner foretold, and certainly not in the proper time frame. As we both know, forecasting these events has proved increasingly difficult, leaving little option other than a leap of faith. We have done what we can for those in thy care, but the time nears when we must step back and let matters take what course they will. We have, perhaps, been a touch too sheltering to this point.

Despite my desire to remain neutral in this matter, I could not, in good conscience, let events proceed without some measure of warning. The other side will move very soon, and I urge thee to leave Candlekeep this very night, if possible. The darkness may seem equally threatening, but a moving target is much harder to hit, regardless of how sparse the cover. A fighting chance is all that can be asked for at this point

Should anything go awry, do not hesitate to seek aid from travelers along the way. I do not need to remind thee that it is a dangerous land, even without our current concerns, and a party is stronger than an individual in all respects. Should additional assistance be required, I understand that Jaheira and Khalid are currently at the Friendly Arm Inn. They know little of what has passed, but they are ever thy friends and will no doubt help however they can.

Luck be with us all.  
I'm getting too old for this.

E

"Um…," Imoen began, and Mijandra turned to see her blink a few times before voicing her thoughts. "Looks like one of Gorion's Harper friends sent him a warning that someone is after you. Right?" Mijandra nodded, wondering why Imoen always bothered to check with her when they both agreed – Imoen with most of the enthusiasm – that she was the smarter between them. "But…why would anyone deserving Harper attention be after you?"

Mijandra shrugged. "Maybe it has something to do with my true parents."

"Yeah, maybe," Imoen answered as she took the letter and scanned over it again, frowning. "Looks like the Harpers might have been helping protect you, too." She looked up again, worried. "Out of a favor to Gorion or because…?"

"I'm that important," Mijandra finished as Imoen trailed off, her words seemingly punctuated by another flicker in her vision. She fought a tremor before making a rapid turn to begin looking for her dropped blades.

"So…what now?" Imoen asked, failing to keep the fear out of her voice.

"We find Jaheira and Khalid. After that we'll see."

"You sure? We don't know who this E guy is…"

Mijandra found her blades and sheathed them, feeling some of the edge come off her anxiety. "Father told me about Jaheira and Khalid before we left Candlekeep. He trusts them."

"Oh." Mijandra could feel Imoen's anxiety soften some as well. "And what about…his body?"

Mijandra had to fight to turn and look at Gorion again. Then she had to fight to turn back. "We'll have a message sent to Candlekeep as soon as possible. We need to be away from here quickly, and they'll give him a better burial than we could."

"Okay," Imoen said softly, following Mijandra as they began the walk back to the road.

Mijandra reached behind her for Imoen's hand. "I'll keep us safe," she said, and they both knew it was to reassure herself as much as Imoen.

Imoen smirked as she moved to Mijandra's side. "Me too," she said, giving Mijandra's hand a light squeeze before briefly resting her head on her shoulder.

They continued to walk that way as they stepped onto the road, and for some time after, until Imoen released Mijandra's hand to wipe her own on Mijandra's sleeve. "Sheesh, sweaty aren't ya?"

Mijandra raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me? **I** never had to wear gloves to pick a lock."

Imoen gave a mock glare. "That was years ago, and I was **still** better at it than you."

Mijandra snorted. "Uh huh."

Imoen stuck her tongue out in response, then released a small giggle that served to officially declare the change in mood. For now at least all of their worries were forgotten.

They continued in comfortable silence for a time, until, mere seconds after Mijandra predicted she would be wanting more conversation soon, Imoen asked, "So what will we do for a living?"

"Depends on Khalid and Jaheira."

"Ookay, but they're probably Harpers, how fun will they be? If we end up on our own what will we do for a living?"

Mijandra smiled slightly. "I assume you already have something in mind?"

"Yeah, but I'm asking you."

"And you're ready to mock whatever I come up with if it's not the same thing you're thinking of?"

"Yes, of course. Now answer the question."

Mijandra pursed her lips. "Farm."

"Ugh. You're really not good at being funny."

"Comedy."

Imoen snorted. "Okay, that was better. But come on, serious answer."

"Well…I suppose we'd be professional thieves."

Imoen smiled and pat Mijandra on the shoulder, saying in a patronizing voice, "Very good! We could start in Beregost to get the hang of things, then before you know it we'd be in Baldur's Gate, the best thieves in the whole city, our names cursed by the rich and celebrated by the poor as we give them half of all our profits!" Mijandra raised an eyebrow at that which Imoen deliberately ignored. "Oh, and we'd be worshipped by all the other thieves in the city, too! In all of Faerun, even! And then Ao would kick Mask out and put us in his place!"

Mijandra grimaced and whispered a brief prayer to Mask for Imoen's sake, hearing Imoen do the same. She added a prayer to Erevan Ilesere, as well, for good measure.

"I suppose we'd join a guild," Imoen said after her prayer and delusions of grandeur were over.

"Maybe. Depends on how they operate."

Imoen made a face. "Yeah, I don't want to work with any muggers and assassins."

Mijandra nodded her understanding. The two of them shared similar views on thievery, which they made into their own code: A thief is not seen, a thief is not heard, and a thief is not felt. By extension a thief does not threaten or kill. And though they both followed the code completely, they followed it for different reasons. For Imoen it was a matter of principle, while Mijandra simply preferred the challenges of **real** thief work.

"So, what would our names be?"

"Names?"

"Yeah, the names we'd earn for becoming infamous thieves," Imoen clarified, showing she was not yet finished making grandiose visions of the future. "Let's see, I'd be… Imoen the Quick. Imoen the Sly. Imoen the Beautiful."

"Imoen the Humble."

Imoen blinked once, then twice, then broke into a deliriously happy smile that left Mijandra stunned. "That's **perfect**!" She gave Mijandra a comically loud kiss before throwing her arms around her. "I **love **you!"

"Um…you're welcome," Mijandra said dumbly.

Imoen let go and almost danced a few steps ahead before repeating the name and giggling. "Imoen the Humble." She then turned to Mijandra, allowing her to catch up before asking, "Now, what will your name be?"

Mijandra shrugged, then smirked. "Mijandra the Comedian."

Imoen snorted again. "That's twice now in one day that you've almost made me laugh. You're starting to scare me."

Now that Mijandra thought about it, it kind of scared her, too, so she answered seriously. "Mijandra the Shadow."

"Hmm…that'd work. Though I think Mijandra the Whisper would be better." Mijandra was about to nod her approval when Imoen continued. "Would fit your skill as a thief and the fact that you never talk to anybody," Imoen smirked.

Mijandra scowled. "I talk to you and…father. I don't need anybody else."

"Mijandra the Lone Wolf?" Imoen asked amused.

Mijandra nodded, repeating, "Mijandra the Lone Wolf, except for Imoen, she's okay."

Imoen snickered. "Mijandra the Anti-social."

Mijandra scowled again, though now clearly in jest. "Mijandra the It's-Not-My-Fault-People-Are-Irritating."

Imoen finally laughed outright at that, though she cut it abruptly short as they both began to take an avid interest in their surroundings.

"I'm hungry," Imoen said as she slid her bow off her back, "You think there's any raccoons around here?"

"Probably," Mijandra answered, adding, "I'll help skin them," as she drew her blades.

"Thanks. How many do you think there are?"

Mijandra was quiet a moment. "Seven."

"Stop where you are and drop your weapons!" a voice shouted as seven bandits armed with bows stepped out of the trees around them.

"Damn, I woulda guessed six," Imoen whispered.

**To be continued…**


	4. Ice

**Chapter 4 - Ice**

_To My Dear Distinguished Colleagues:_

_A little over two years having passed now, I have been feeling it is time Veil spoke of her time with the priests of the dead one. Such ghosts should not remain buried deep inside, after all, and I understand many of you have been showing curiosity and even some concern, bless your hearts, regarding her memories of that time. Unfortunately Veil refuses to speak of the matter, now or ever. She insists that the telling will make me sad, and will listen to none of my attempts to convince her that I'm quite a stout old man and capable of hearing whatever she has to tell me._

_I'll not be giving up any time soon, however. I feel getting her to speak of this could explain and perhaps heal much of her reclusive nature, and whatever other hidden shadows still haunt her. She has been known to spend the occasional hour in the barracks simply staring at the single jail cell there. Very distressing, indeed._

_In the interests of improving the mood of this letter and the mood of its writer, lest I spend the rest of the day worrying, I should like to tell you that Veil has taken up dancing. Primarily elven dances, of course. Knowing her it is likely just another form of exercise for her, and according to a self-proclaimed expert dance critic among the monks she does not dance from her "heart". I myself have not found it makes her performances any less marvelous, however; she is certainly possessed of the legendary grace elves are so often known for._

_Now, that is a much better note to end a letter on._

_Sincerely,_  
_Gorion_

* * *

"You're a sharp pair of lasses, aye," the man who shouted before continued, his plain face and long red hair seeming faintly unsuited to a leader of bandits, though the grime that covered them was much to be expected. "And quite pretty ones, too, I might add."

Murmurs and growls of agreement were heard from the other bandits as Mijandra moved to guard Imoen as best she could, though with them surrounded three of the bandits still had a clear shot.

"So pretty, in fact," the leader continued, "it would be a travesty to kill you. Right men?" Agreement echoed slightly louder this time. "Aye, so just drop your weapons and hand over any other iron you might be carrying, and we'll do the chivalrous thing and let you live. Though…," his face broke into a sickening grin that managed to show as much rot in his character as it did in his teeth, "we'll be expecting you to show us your appreciation for our generosity, won't we men?"

Cheers of hearty agreement sounded all around them. A darting glance over the rest of the bandits showed leering smiles and eyes glinting with sadistic lust, much like their leader's.

Mijandra did not need to look at Imoen to know the fire that was building inside her. A fire they shared. Her knuckles turned white on the grip of her blades.

They would not be taken alive.

* * *

"Hold, mage." To Montaron's surprise and mild displeasure Xzar heard him, understood, and obeyed. Two out of three of those was usually the most Montaron could ever expect from the lunatic.

"What is it, Monty?" the mage asked.

Montaron growled at the nickname and the affection with which Xzar spoke it. '_If he tries to pat me on the head again he'll be casting his spells one-handed._' "Bandits up ahead," Montaron responded, not bothering to hide his disappointment that the mage hadn't continued walking obliviously right into their midst.

"Bandits!" Xzar squealed. "Oh joy! Where, Monty, where!"

For the thirty-seventh time Montaron cursed that he wasn't paired with another hin, or maybe a gnome, or even a dwarf. As it was the human mage's dangerously loud mouth was out of reach for his instinctive desire to clasp a hand over it. The same went for the mage's neck, which he once again longed to give a good squeeze. Since the idea was to be quiet he resisted settling for a kick to the mage's shin, though his true desire was to hack both shins off and fix the whole height problem permanently. But that would still leave the hundreds of other things he regularly cursed about his current partnership, and add the new burden of having to carry the mage around.

"That way, on the road just passed the trees," Montaron whispered, hoping the mage would get the idea to be quiet. He couldn't just **tell** Xzar to be quiet, of course. He tried that once, and for days after the mage wouldn't even whisper, just move his mouth and expect Montaron to read his lips, not even speaking to cast spells. And did the mage notice that none of his spells seemed to work during that period? No, of course he didn't.

The mad mage did seem to understand Montaron's request for stealth this time as he made an exaggerated show of tip-toeing to the edge of the trees, looking like some fool actor in a play and accomplishing little in the way of real stealth. Montaron managed to resist voicing his disgust thanks to his inability to decide what curses would best express it.

Meanwhile Xzar choked on another squeal. "Look, Monty, look!" he managed to whisper as he waved Montaron closer. "Fair damsels! Beset by these bandits!"

That had Montaron's interest. But as he looked closer all he saw were a typical pair of grotesquely large and clumsy-looking big folk women, and he cursed Xzar's race - and its corresponding taste in women - for the thirty-eighth time. Then he heard the words of the bandit leader. "These be some of the iron bandits we be looking for."

Xzar covered yet another squeal with his hand. "Smiting bandits and saving damsels in distress! We're heroes, Monty! Heroes!"

"Oh frabgerous day, kaloo kaley," Montaron muttered, drawing his sword as Xzar began casting a spell.

* * *

"Put down your weapons," the bandit leader repeated.

Mijandra did not comply, standing with her blades ready for combat, waiting. They would not be taken alive, of that she was certain, but she could not resign herself to death yet, and she found herself stalling.

"You have three seconds. Drop your weapons before our chivalry runs out."

Mijandra only sneered. Three seconds, then. Three more seconds of hope that they might live through this. Then she would strike, and try to take as many of them with her as she could.

After the count of just one their hopes were fulfilled.

Magic words could be heard coming from their left, seconds before the bandit closest to that edge of the rode screamed and fell, a halfling darting back into the trees behind him after removing his sword from the bandit's back. The remaining bandits turned away from Mijandra and Imoen to watch, frozen for the moment in surprise.

Mijandra shot forward, curving slightly to the right as she closed on the bandit leader. Imoen's arrow shot through the space Mijandra left for her and came to rest in the leader's throat. Mijandra diverted her path in response, stabbing her sword into the gut of the next nearest bandit as her dagger sank between the ribs under his armpit.

The unseen mage's spell finished as the remaining bandits finally started aiming their bows. Mijandra felt the spell pass over her as she chose her next target. The bandit's bow was trained on her, and she began the first few steps of another curved path towards him, eyes watching for signs that he would fire, body ready to dodge the shot as best she could. Within those first few steps the spell that left her unharmed gripped him, and he suddenly screamed, threw his bow away, and started running from her has fast as he could.

Which would not be fast enough, especially now that Mijandra could safely run straight at him. Tripping and nearly falling on his own bow didn't help him, much, either. Before he could completely right himself, however, an arrow in the back brought him fully to the ground.

Mijandra turned to see Imoen looking at her as she notched her bow with another arrow, making a feeble attempt at smiling smugly. Distantly Mijandra recalled this was the first time Imoen has had to kill anybody. Something she would want to talk about later.

These distant thoughts were savagely pushed aside as the battle suddenly demanded Mijandra's complete attention. Briefly she noted two of the other bandits gibbering with magic-induced fear, one of them being silenced by another stab in the back from the halfling stranger as the other ran into the trees. But one bandit had resisted the effects of the spell, and stood angrily behind Imoen with arrow ready. Four glowing red orbs darted from behind the trees as the bandit screamed a curse at Imoen's gender. There were flashes and swirls of magic as each orb stabbed into him, a fraction of a second after he released his arrow.

The moment the arrow struck Mijandra's vision changed. She ran forward in time to catch the black shape of Imoen as she fell, a surprisingly easy feat with everything around her suddenly moving so slowly. The shades of Imoen's face contorted in pain. Mijandra was afraid to look at anything else. Afraid to look down. Afraid to see the arrow jutting from Imoen's stomach. Afraid to see, to accept the likelihood of Imoen's death.

When she finally forced herself to look all the fear went away. Her vision did not show her the torn flesh of Imoen's abdomen, or the blood oozing from around the bandit's arrow. It did not show her the fatal wound of a dying sister. It showed red. Red ice. The beautiful veined red crystal that encased her father's killer. But it was different this time. Now it moved. It grew. Slowly, so slowly, but faster and faster, it lurched through Imoen's body, consumed her bit by bit. Consumed her joyfully.

It seemed to dance, somehow. Dance its gluttonous joy. And sing. Mijandra could hear it sing, and she almost wept at the beauty, at the pleasure it brought. She caressed Imoen's stomach reverently, her senses extending beyond her fingertips to go deeper, to feel the red ice move and grow around her, feel it embrace her and love her, and sing louder and louder as it came ever closer to Imoen's heart.

"I feel so cold," Imoen whispered before coughing wetly.

Mijandra's eyes widened as full awareness of the situation slammed back into her. The red ice was not beautiful. The red ice was vile. The red ice was killing Imoen. Imoen was dying.

"NO!"

The red ice stopped, surprising Mijandra out of her desperation. It stopped growing, stopped dancing. But it continued to sing, a different song now. A miserable song, so miserable and so different from the song before that Mijandra almost wept again, almost fell back under its influence. The song begged her, begged her for pity, begged her for… '_Permission?_'

"No!" she repeated, and the song became louder, more desperate. "Stop. Leave her alone." The song only continued, even louder, and becoming almost angry. She felt fury at the red ice's disobedience come from somewhere inside her, someplace that wasn't truly her, and she began to push. Where her senses underneath Imoen's skin had previously let the red ice flow over her, she now began to push against it, and it moved.

The song became more miserable than ever before. She pushed the red ice away from Imoen's heart, shrank it further and further back to the wound in her stomach from whence it came, its song becoming more pitiful with every inch it gave. Half-guessing what she was supposed to do, Mijandra moved a hand to pull the arrow out of Imoen's back, then put both hands over her stomach and gave the red ice a final push.

It left Imoen's body to cover her right hand, and there it remained on the surface, doing Mijandra no harm as its song begged her to free it. As she watched Imoen's breathing and willed her normal vision to return so she could check the wound, she also concentrated on getting rid of the red ice. Like everything else about it the feeling of it on her hand was both wonderful and repulsive.

Whatever control she had over it could not make it simply disappear, and as she expected trying to wipe it off did nothing. The solution came as the last remaining bandit, being chased by the halfling, tripped over Imoen and fell with his head at Mijandra's knees. At that moment her desires coincided with those of the red ice, as they both wished to be free of each other, and Mijandra's hand was drawn to the bandit's neck almost of its own accord.

There she let the red ice go, and as it left her vision suddenly returned to normal. Something she soon regretted as she watched in fine and gory detail lacerations spreading out from her hand to rapidly cover the man's wetly screaming face. Blood drenched her hand before she could think to move it away, though the thought never came, stunned as she was by the gruesome sight before her. As he jerked, sputtered, and gurgled in his last moments spatters of blood splashed as high as her face. And then he was still.

"What the hell spell was that?" the halfling asked standing beside her, getting a close look at the fate of his would-be prey.

"Spell? I like spells." Mijandra couldn't find the strength to lift her head up and look at the new voice, though she recognized it as the unseen spellcaster. Her head insisted on staying down, as her stomach insisted on emptying its contents onto the ground beside her.

When she was done she felt an exhaustion more complete than any she had known before wash over her, one that seemed to extend beyond her body and into her soul. With the last of her strength she managed to aim her collapse away from both the body and the vomit, to fall unconscious on a nice and clean patch of road.

* * *

She stood in a dark forest. A forest that stretched on for eternity around her, every direction looking the same, looking darker and more empty than where she already stood. The prospect of finding a path out felt utterly hopeless, the thought of moving from her current spot completely futile.

Then suddenly there was a light in her peripheral vision. She turned and saw a clear and shining path through the forest. A beautiful path lit in red, paved with stones and lined with trees both made of pulsing red crystal. A path that seemed made for her and promised to fulfill her every desire.

She took a step forward without thinking, then immediately stopped. She didn't like doing things without thinking. She didn't like losing control.

Who made this path? Where did it go? What desires would it fulfill, and how? She did not know the answer to these questions. Answers she should know before a path should feel like this one did. She should not feel so drawn to a path she knew nothing about.

It was a lie. It was a path someone else wanted for her, a path they wanted to force her down. She did not like being forced. She did not like being controlled.

Mijandra would choose her own path. The only path made for Mijandra would be a path made by Mijandra. She turned away from the shining path and walked into the darkness of the forest.

But the shining path was not to be easily ignored. No matter how many trees she passed it remained the same distance behind, its light ever bright on her back and its promises growing no quieter in her head.


	5. Lean

**Chapter 5 - Lean**

_To My Dear Distinguished Colleagues:_

_There are no new developments since my last correspondence, I'm afraid. Veil is still on her "vacation". Yes, that makes this one three weeks now._

_I do have new speculation for you, though, which I know you love ever so much. I believe this hiding for days at a time is another exercise for Veil, another test for herself. I happen to know she keeps track of how long she goes without being seen. Every previous time she has done this she has always been quick to correct anyone who dared approximate the time that she has been gone._

_And I am quite certain she is not merely hiding in some dark hole that no one else knows about. Strange things tend to happen during the times she is "away". Things go missing, often showing up in unusual places - a load of laundry found steaming in a pot in the kitchens, for instance, or Candlekeep's newly purchased calf Nessie being found on the top floor of the inn in its finest room. One terrified monk swore his (windowless and decidedly undrafty) room was haunted when every book on his desk would change its page every time he turned around._

_It has always been in the pursuit of such dare I call pranks as these that Veil gets herself caught. She is not merely hiding. She is challenging herself. And I'm sure I shall regret saying this, but if she has truly developed a child's healthy appetite for mischief I will be very pleased._

_It believe it goes without saying that I shall be quite cross with her when she is finally caught again, much as I have been on previous occasions, and there shall be no shortage of discipline. But I can hardly spend every day until that time being cross, especially not at my age, so I shall enjoy the situation as much as I can for now (though I do confess to missing her presence terribly at times)._

_And should any of you recall Veil's nightly ritual during these times, of bidding me goodnight from some shadowy corner of my room before promptly disappearing again, you may wonder why I have not organized some kind of "trap" around it to catch her. To said question I have three answers: First, that would hardly be the proper way to repay a courtesy. Second, a man of my veneration is not lacking his own appetite for mischief. And third, Veil secreted a calf from the stable, across the open yards of keep, into the inn, and up its stairs to the top floor without anybody noticing, and in the middle of the day if reports are correct. You can hardly expect me to try and match wits with her after that. I may be a proud man, but I'm no fool._

_ThE KEEPEr of ThE ToMEs is DUM._

_Yes, well put, Veil. Perhaps this will teach me to leave my letters unattended while she is unaccounted for. Case in point, it seems._

_Sincerely,_  
_Gorion_

* * *

Imoen stroked Mijandra's black hair, the girl's head resting in her lap. It was very calming. Almost as calming as Mijandra waking up already so she could get some things off her mind. Which would happen any time now, of course. The fact that she'd fallen unconscious for no discernable reason twice in the same twenty-four hour period while suffering strange visions and showing unnatural powers was nothing to worry about. Mijandra would definitely be waking up very, very soon.

Imoen had to slow down her stroking for worry of rubbing Mijandra's head bald. She took a deep breath and ran her hand through the hair down Mijandra's back. She smiled slightly as she fingered the light lilac ribbon tying her hair at the neck.

The sound of Xzar's mumbling came to her attention as he wandered closer. He'd finished interrogating the bandits some time ago and was now supposedly contemplating the results. He'd had a few scrolls of some spell that made dead bodies answer questions based on the knowledge they had during life. She listened in on the first conversation, which set the precedent for the others that followed. Xzar would ask who they worked for, dislike the answer, curse and kick the body several times, then ask again. He ran out of scrolls after the third bandit, though he continued the routine on the remaining bodies as though he didn't notice a difference.

Imoen hadn't liked their answers much, either. The Zhentarim had been nothing but a boogeyman back in Candlekeep. Just one day in the world outside and they had already become real.

Imoen darted an eye to Montaron sitting under a tree cleaning his nails with a dagger. She liked to do this often, as she really didn't like him much and trusted him even less. His eyes moved over his surroundings with equal disdain for all; the trees, the bodies, the pile of spoils claimed from the bandits, Imoen, the dirt, all were the same as far as he was concerned. The only thing that gained any special attention was Xzar, who he would always look upon with abject hatred.

"Oh, little one. Have you decided yet whether to aid us in our quest?" Imoen looked up to see Xzar standing very close to her, likely only reminded of her presence by having just now nearly run into her.

"I ain't goin' on some cockamamie quest! It be a **mission**, fool!" Montaron shouted from under his tree.

"Yes, yes, whatever. Little ones like to call them quests, Monty, and she is a little one." Xzar then frowned and looked at Montaron. "Though, so are you." Xzar stopped to puzzle through this new conundrum while Imoen and Montaron scowled at him. "Ah! But she is young while Monty is merely short!" he announced with a clap.

"I be the tallest in me family, and I can bring ye down to my height easily enough, hurbryn," Montaron growled at the same time Imoen indignantly shouted, "I'm fifteen years old!"

Further argument was halted as a moan came from Imoen's lap. Imoen looked down to see Mijandra's eyes flutter open. "Finally," Imoen breathed, her relief audible.

"Imoen?" Mijandra blinked a few times before surging up to throw her arms around her. "Imoen!"

Imoen responded in kind, laughing as her arms wrapped around Mijandra's back. "Yep, it's me," she said. Then Mijandra pulled back and Imoen found herself being soundly kissed.

Sadly she had only a few seconds to enjoy it before Mijandra pulled away and started lifting Imoen's short dress. "You're okay? The wound…" Mijandra's hand moved over the bandaging revealed on Imoen's stomach, about an inch above the top of her pants, which Imoen wore under her dresses regularly, making this situation far less embarrassing than it would be for most women, especially with the attention Xzar and Montaron were giving them after that kiss.

Imoen looked at the bandage, as well, as she answered. "Yeah, I'm okay somehow. It still bled some for a while, but it wasn't hurting even half as much, and I could breathe just fine, no more spitting up blood or anything. It was like the arrow just poked me on each side without hurting anything in between." She looked into Mijandra's eyes as they continued to look at the bandage. "You did something, didn't you?"

Mijandra's eyes met hers, and they showed a confusing mix of relief and fear. "Yeah," she whispered, averting her eyes to look at her hand, thankfully cleaned while she'd been unconscious.

"What?" Mijandra didn't answer, instead merely staring at the person who asked. Xzar stared back. "You can share your magic, can't you, little one? Sharing makes the world a better place. Your parents taught you, I'm sure."

Imoen saw Mijandra's eyes tighten slightly. "Thank you for coming to our aid," she said politely, looking to Xzar then Montaron, then forgetting them completely to turn back to Imoen. "How long was I out?"

"About three hours," Imoen said as they both stood up, Imoen receiving a great deal of unneeded help in the matter. To Imoen's surprise though Mijandra seemed to lean on her slightly once they were both standing.

Mijandra sighed, then blinked. "They've been waiting here for three hours?" she asked, indicating their two saviors.

"Aye, we've got an offer for ye," Montaron answered, getting up from his tree and walking to Xzar's side.

"Oh yes, that's right! The fifteen-year-old little one wanted to wait for the magic little one to awake before making a decision!" Xzar twittered with excitement, then reached into his robes. "Potions!" he exclaimed eagerly, thrusting a specimen of said noun in front of Mijandra's face. Mijandra backed away and frowned in confusion.

"What the idiot be tryin' to say is we be wantin' ye to join us on our mission-"

"Quest, Monty, quest!"

"Our **mission** to investigate the Iron Crisis, starting with the mines of Nashkel to the south. And to earn your good will, we be offering-"

"Potions!" Xzar exclaimed again, shaking the potion in his hand at Mijandra.

The tension on Montaron's patience was audible as he continued, "Aye, healing potions, free of cost and obligation. Though your conscience will surely tell ye otherwise," he finished with a smirk.

Imoen saw Mijandra look from Montaron, to Xzar, to the potion, and finally to her. Then, to her horror, Mijandra took the potion from Xzar's hand and passed it to her.

"Excuse us a minute," Imoen said as she pulled Mijandra off into the trees. "We do **not** want to go with them!" Imoen hissed. Indeed, the only reason Imoen had waited for Mijandra to wake up before answering was so she would have more support.

"Why not? They saved our lives, and they could probably do it again, especially the mage. I wish it could be just the two of us, but we'll need more than that if we want to survive any more meetings with bandits." Mijandra's face cracked then and she looked on the edge of tears. "That battle was too close, sis," she said as she leaned her head on Imoen's shoulder. "Too close," she repeated in a rasp as shaky arms circled around Imoen's back.

'_Shit_,' Imoen thought as she felt tears pricking her eyes while she returned Mijandra's embrace. It seemed that Mijandra could suffer through all manner of physical and emotional torment without batting an eye, but as soon as Imoen got so much as a scratch she fell apart. It wasn't much of a problem back in Candlekeep, but now that they were on the road during a time of great bandit activity while some nameless foe sought Mijandra's death… '_She's gonna be bawling like a baby on a daily basis._' Imoen couldn't help a snort at that thought, or the small giggle that followed.

"Sorry," Imoen murmured, then leaned back to look at Mijandra and continue their discussion. "I understand we could use the help, but we can't trust **them**. The mage is crazy, and the halfling is…a bad thief." As far as Imoen was concerned, bad thief was the worst condemnation she could deliver a person, and it had nothing to do with lack of skill.

"I'm sure we can trust them as far as the Friendly Arm. After that, if Khalid and Jaheira come along we may be able to trust them further."

Imoen sighed. "I guess that'd be okay. If they'll agree to go to the Friendly Arm."

Mijandra shrugged. "If they won't my conscience doesn't have any problem with taking their potions and bidding them goodbye." Imoen snickered. "Speaking of which, drink yours."

Imoen blinked, then shrugged. "I don't really need it, but whatever." She uncorked the potion and drank, the tingling warmth it brought countering the bitter taste and in the end balancing out. She felt the tingling concentrate for few seconds at the points where the arrow entered her back and exited her stomach, then it faded. With a flourish and a burp she handed the bottle back to Mijandra. Mijandra simply raised an eyebrow as she stashed the bottle into a pocket, then walked back onto the road, Imoen following.

They grabbed their packs on the way to Xzar and Montaron. "We accept," Mijandra told them as Imoen stood at her side. This time there was no mistaking it; Mijandra was definitely leaning on her.

"Wonderful!" Xzar cheered. "Oh, but we haven't been properly introduced, yet, have we? I am Xzar, and this is Monty."

"Montaron! Call me Monty and I'll break your kneecaps!" Xzar only giggled.

"Good," Mijandra said dismissively. "We need to go to the Friendly Arm Inn."

"We do?" Xzar asked.

"No, we don't," Montaron answered.

Imoen sighed and decided to take the conversation out of Mijandra's clumsy hands. "We have two friends there waiting for us."

"Oh?" Xzar said.

"Good fighters?" Montaron asked.

Imoen shrugged. "Better than us, I'll bet."

"Aye, they be good fighters, then," Montaron responded, looking rather pleased as Montaron went, and Imoen became uncomfortable with the reminder that she'd killed for the first time today, and the realization that she'd apparently been good at it.

"And they will want to come with us?" Xzar asked.

Imoen brightened. "Oh yeah, definitely. You're investigating the Iron Crisis, right?" Xzar and Montaron nodded. "They're Harpers, they'd be all over nation-shaking stuff like that."

Montaron's face showed surprise before settling into a grimace, while Xzar's became studiously tranquil. "Harpers?" the mage asked.

"Uh, yeah…" Imoen answered, sensing the sudden tension.

"We don't take company with no Harpers!" Montaron growled.

"Indeed, neither of us like music very much. A pleasure meeting you, good day." With that Xzar started marching away from the road, Montaron keeping a suspicious eye on them as he followed.

"Oops," Imoen murmured, then ran to join Mijandra as she intercepted Xzar.

"What about the potions?" Mijandra asked.

Xzar blinked several times, then answered, "You don't appear to need them. Why, you look as hearty as a pair of bullfrogs!" He then continued his march, right between the two of them and into the trees.

Imoen sighed as they walked back onto the road, tucking the potion she lifted from Xzar into a pocket as Mijandra did the same with hers. "Some reaction, huh? Guess some people really don't like Harpers."

Mijandra shrugged. "Not too surprising," she said as she crouched in front of the small pile of bandit loot. Montaron had only found a few weapons and pieces of armor that met his standards. Not that his standards had been particularly high, Imoen realized. These bandits just had really crappy equipment.

"Hmm, I guess," Imoen responded.

"I assume you didn't collect all this?" Mijandra asked as she began to poke through the items in question.

"No, Montaron did."

"Nice of him to leave it all behind for us," Mijandra murmured as she unsheathed a short sword and checked its balance, quickly sheathing it again and checking another.

"He collected it for us in the first place, back when he and Xzar assumed we'd be joining forces. None of the armor would fit him, anyway, and he certainly had all the weapons he needed."

"Three daggers and two swords," Mijandra recalled absentmindedly while stuffing two of the swords into her pack.

"That was my count," Imoen agreed. "Probably has that many again that we didn't see, though. Awful creature."

"It's strange for you to dislike someone so much, Imoen," Mijandra commented as she turned a piece of armor around in her hands, her tone curious.

Imoen frowned. "Well, there weren't a lot of people like them back in Candlekeep."

Mijandra was quiet a moment. "Not a lot, no."

Imoen grimaced and changed the subject. "What are you doing, anyway?"

Mijandra looked up from the armor she'd been examining with increasing scrutiny. "Seeing if I can adjust the size on this."

Imoen frowned in confusion, then gaped. "You...you don't want me to wear that, do you? I…" It was the armor of the bandit leader. The front was stained with the blood her arrow had freed from his throat. "I can't."

"I know. You will wear my armor. I can wear this."

Imoen's eyebrows lifted. "But…but it's yours! It was made for you, it…" Mijandra had started doing guard duty in Candlekeep about three months past. The Watchers had been glad to have her; she had the best eyes and ears in all of Candlekeep, after all, and could best everyone but the gatewarden in at least two out of every three training matches. They didn't have any armor that would fit her, though, and had to commission a new set. At her request, and recognizing that the standard platemail would do her little good, they had a full suit of the best non-magical leather armor money could buy made, still saving considerably over the cost of platemail.

Imoen couldn't be sure, but every time she put on the full suit before going up on the wall she thought Mijandra looked proud. She took care of the armor with the same obsessive care that she did her weapons. She didn't wear the full suit, now; just the cuirass, pauldrons, and greaves so she could maintain the grace and silence of a proper thief. But full suit or not, its quality was still undeniable. Compared to what she was thinking of putting on… "And that stuff is crap!" Imoen pointed.

Mijandra looked at the bandit leader's armor. It was only a leather cuirass, slightly worn, but otherwise serviceable. "I'll be fine," Mijandra said as she stood up and began removing her armor.

Imoen sighed, taking the armor from Mijandra. She cringed as she then saw Mijandra putting on the bandit leader's. For a moment she thought she saw Mijandra wobble slightly on her feet, but dismissed the sight as an attempt to distract herself from recalling how the armor had been freed of its previous owner. To that same end she tried to laugh at how poorly the armor fit Mijandra presently, but couldn't seem to. She could only stare at the jagged patch of dried blood under Mijandra's neck. "Shouldn't we wash it off, first?"

Mijandra looked down at the armor she now wore and shrugged. "When we next find a stream. I'll not go unarmored in the meantime."

Imoen sighed again. "Probably a good idea." Mijandra didn't respond as she came closer to assist Imoen in putting her armor on. This brought the bloodstained armor of the bandit leader closer to Imoen, as well, and she was feeling very hard-pressed to think about anything else as Mijandra took her time adjusting and readjusting Imoen's armor to over-protective perfection. The memory of Montaron stripping it from the bandit leader was currently playing in her head. If she tried she thought she could almost find it funny; Xzar had been "interrogating" the body at the same time, after all.

Imoen's eyes suddenly widened. "Mijandra…let's go. Now. Quickly."

Mijandra's brow furrowed as she made some final adjustments. "Why?" she asked as she started walking down the road in compliance, Imoen following.

And soon leading. "C'mon, faster. I think Xzar and Montaron were Zhentarim."

Mijandra's face registered surprise. "What, why?"

"Xzar was using this spell to make the bandits' bodies answer questions, and he would ask them who they worked for. They would answer the Zhentarim and he would get angry and call them liars. I didn't worry about it before because Xzar never made sense anyway, but now I think someone is trying to blame the Iron Crisis on the Zhentarim and those two were sent to find out who and why. And them being Zhentarim explains the way they reacted to Harpers, too."

Mijandra nodded. "Makes sense." She then reached for Imoen's hand to slow her down. "But we're not part of their mission; not anymore anyway. And I doubt they'll come after us for a pair of healing potions. We can keep our eyes open, but I don't think we need to worry."

"Well, I'd rather we did. In fact, I'd like us to run for a bit."

Mijandra shook her head and sighed. "I can't run, Imoen."

Imoen was about to ask why, then she remembered Mijandra wobbling and leaning on her. "You're tired."

Mijandra nodded slowly, almost grudgingly. Imoen came closer and wrapped one of Mijandra's arms over her shoulder, and felt Mijandra lean on her almost immediately. Not a lot, as Imoen wasn't exactly the strongest girl in the world, but noticeably. "It took a lot out of me. What I did…to you," Mijandra finally said.

"And what **did** you do?"

Mijandra took a deep breath. "Let me start by saying that when I said I was fine this morning…I…was wrong."

* * *

"Wow," Imoen said as Mijandra's story was over.

"Yeah…wow."

"So the red stuff is…death?"

Mijandra blinked. "That would make the most sense."

"You can control…death?"

Mijandra scowled at the road ahead of them. "Maybe. I hope I never have to try again to find out."

"Yeah, you don't make it sound pleasant." Imoen gave Mijandra's hand over her shoulder a squeeze.

"You should eat," Mijandra said.

"So should you," Imoen responded. By unspoken compromise they each drew a travel ration from their packs and began to eat. It filled them up nicely; neither was feeling very hungry.

About twenty minutes later Mijandra stopped walking. "What's wrong?" Imoen asked.

"Nothing," Mijandra said distractedly, and quickly started walking again, pulling Imoen along for the first few steps. Then she stopped again.

"Come on, Mijandra, what is it?" Imoen pleaded softly.

"I can feel the path," Mijandra whispered, eyes closed tightly. "It's caught up to me."

"What?"

"The forest. The dream. My dream, Imoen. It's here."

"Mijandra, please, you're not making any sense."

Mijandra pulled Imoen closer, her other arm closing around her. "Like when my vision changes colors. But its not colors anymore. Now I see the empty black forest and feel the path waiting behind me."

Imoen tried to swallow past the tightness in her throat. "W-what…is there anything I can do?"

Mijandra opened her mouth to speak, then quickly shut it. A moment later she opened it again. "It…stopped," she said cautiously, as if fearing speaking the words would make them no longer true.

Imoen's sigh of relief was cut short as she saw Mijandra slowly turn to look behind them, then turn back, her face a complete mask. "The path is still there." She looked at Imoen, the blank glassy look on her face as painful to see as a face contorted by the fear and desperation she hid. "The forest is gone but I can still feel the path."

Imoen's mouth worked as she tried to find something to say, but her efforts were abruptly ended when Mijandra began pulling them forward again. "Let's go."

Mijandra's partial reprieve lasted an hour, a sudden tremor announcing the return of the black forest. It continued to come more frequently, more solidly, flickering less and less as time passed. For six hours total they pressed on while Mijandra shakily walked through the black forest, Imoen talking all the while, feeling Mijandra begin to panic whenever she was silent for more than a few seconds. Imoen didn't know how she managed to keep the tears from her voice the entire time.

* * *

At the end of those six hours Imoen could take no more, and she new Mijandra couldn't either. She demanded they stop, and Mijandra didn't have enough strength left, physical or otherwise, to resist. Mijandra collapsed as soon as Imoen released her to set up camp, only moving from where she lay to find the bedroll Imoen laid out for her.

Imoen described her every action out loud as she set up camp. It was the only way Mijandra had any idea what she was doing. The hush of the dream forest had forced itself on her senses. She could not hear Imoen's footsteps, the rustle of her clothing, the sound of her rummaging through their packs, or the crackling of the fire. Only Imoen's voice cut through the silence, kept the false promises of the shining path from being the only thing Mijandra heard. Only her precious voice kept Mijandra sane.

They had another ration each before Imoen lay down beside her and they talked until night fell. They talked about anything and everything. Grass. Candy. The smell of old books. It did not matter as long as Mijandra kept hearing Imoen's voice. And as the night drew to a close Imoen started to sing. Mijandra had never heard her sing before. It was beautiful.

Even behind her eyelids Mijandra still saw the black forest; even lying down she still felt the shining path looming behind her. But even through that constant torment Imoen's singing brought her peace. And in that peace Mijandra managed to enter reverie. And in reverie she saw no more visions of empty forests and false paths. Only memories of herself and Imoen back in Candlekeep.


	6. Reverie

**Chapter 6 – Reverie**

Mijandra stood before the gate with Gorion's hand on her shoulder, a place he had become accustomed to putting it over the years. He had not yet adjusted to Mijandra's new reflex of shaking it off as soon as it landed there. 

Mijandra continued to watch the gate as Gorion's hand returned to his side, ignoring his long release of breath. The worried and incredibly sad look his face would be wearing was designed to make her trust him, designed to make her doubt herself. She would keep her eyes forward.

The Watcher on the other side of the gate gave a shout, and the doors were opened, allowing two horses entry. Only one took the offer, guided through the gate by an overweight man on foot. The rider of the other, a hired guard by appearances, merely gave a final nod to the fat man before turning his horse and riding away, his client safely delivered. And sitting on top of the horse that remained was the reason for Mijandra's presence.

An auburn-haired girl in a purple dress. Such clumsy clothing, Mijandra thought. In stark contrast to the girl wearing it, she noted, as the girl laughingly ignored the fat man's offered assistance and leaped out of the saddle to land almost soundlessly on the ground before him, followed by a graceful – and very proud – bow toward Mijandra and Gorion.

Then the girl straightened and was suddenly off, moving toward them at a dead run, stopping just as suddenly with a small skid three feet in front of Mijandra. She immediately turned around to watch the fat man, out of breath, ambling after her, and laughed, suggesting that providing the man with some much-needed exercise may not have been unintentional. 

She turned back toward them as the man caught up, and greeted them with a cheerful, "Heya!"

"This…little scamp," the man huffed as he came to stand behind her, a hand on each shoulder, "is Imoen." A few more seconds of gasping for air and the man continued, "Imoen, this is Gorion and-"

"Are you Mijandra?" Imoen interrupted.

Mijandra nodded as she felt eyes turning to her. Many more than six eyes. A decent audience had gathered to witness the arrival of another child to Candlekeep, and it had just grown further as passersby and nearby Watchers were drawn in by the sure-to-be-interesting first meeting between the new child and Mijandra.

Mijandra could feel now was the time to speak. She probably could have gotten away with being silent for now, but she would have to say something eventually if she wanted this encounter to end, and better sooner than later. Not that Imoen wasn't interesting, but for Mijandra interesting people were something to watch, not talk to. Hopefully another girl her age would remain interesting for a while. Distractions were becoming a precious thing lately.

Of course, depending on what she said she could end up lengthening the encounter rather than quickening its end like she desired. Predicting what words would lead to what outcome continued to be beyond her, and so she didn't bother putting much thought into what she would say. As she had many times before and would again many times after, she said the first thing that came to mind. 

"You're pretty." From the large smile that grew on Imoen's face Mijandra deduced these words would not have the desired result. She also noted absentmindedly that the smile made her even prettier.

"Thank you," Imoen replied happily. 

Mijandra heard Gorion's voice beside her. "Let's leave these two alone to get acquainted, shall we? Everyone?" Mijandra assumed he was distributing a liberal quantity of serious looks to the crowd, for she soon heard a chorus of slow footsteps as it began to dissipate. "Come, Winthrop, I'm sure you've business to attend to at the inn."

"Oh, yes, right you are," the fat man said. "Come to the inn when you get hungry, Imoen. Mijandra can show you the way."

"See ya, Puffguts!" Imoen shouted, giggling as Winthrop scowled and grumbled as he walked away. Turning back to Mijandra, Imoen paused a moment before saying in a quiet voice, "You're really pretty, too," then lowering her head bashfully. Mijandra was rarely graceful in any conversation, but what happened next left her completely disarmed. As Imoen looked down she saw a silk ribbon wound between her fingers. When she raised her head again her hand went with it in offering. "Hey, ya want this?" 

Mijandra eyed it with confusion. It was a very light purple, lilac maybe. "You're giving it to me?"

"Yeah. I don't want it, but I don't want to throw it away. So I'm giving it to a friend," Imoen said matter-of-factly.

Mijandra blinked and her eyes turned to Imoen's. "Friend?" She thought she'd been prepared for the word. She'd certainly heard it enough times as Imoen's arrival came closer. She'd expected that she might hear it from the girl. But, somehow, not like this.

She thought she might be asked. She thought it would be simple to answer. She was not prepared for the honest assumption that they were already friends. She was not prepared to be offered a gift for a few seconds of assumed friendship. She was not prepared for a bright smile and incredibly warm eyes, features that did not falter even as Mijandra quietly stared at them for almost a minute. She had not been prepared for Imoen.

The idea that they were already friends had her thinking in ways she never had before. Confusing thoughts. Frightening thoughts. Hopeful thoughts. Though the question had been skipped there was still the answer to give, and it was not the answer she expected.

Mijandra took the ribbon from Imoen's hand. "What is it for?" she asked.

Imoen shrugged. "You could use it to tie your hair," she suggested.

Mijandra paused a moment, then moved her hands behind her head. As she tied the ribbon around her hair she thought Imoen's smile might have grown a little brighter.

* * *

"You're not hungry already, Imoen? It's a bit early for lunch," Winthrop said as she came in.

"Nah, we're just checkin' the place out."

Winthrop took another look up from the papers he was reading to see Mijandra come in behind her. "Oh, your sister is with you."

Mijandra looked up sharply. "Sister?" both she and Imoen asked simultaneously. 

"Um…well…you just get along so well…already…that, um…would you like to see your room, Imoen?"

They both blinked, Imoen's face frowning in confusion. "Okay," she said with a hint of suspicion. Mijandra mentally congratulated her. Suspicion was good. None of them could be trusted.

"Wow, it's big," Imoen commented as they stepped through the door Winthrop opened for them. A full-sized bed, a wide chest of drawers that rose to her chin, and a wardrobe next to it that looked like it might be taller than two of her. A few chairs, a small table, and plenty of empty space besides.

"You'll grow into it," Winthrop grinned.

"Is this a room for guests?" she asked, looking at him.

"It was." When Imoen frowned, Winthrop's grin grew, "Don't worry, lass, there's plenty of rooms left for customers. Candlekeep's never quite crowded with guests, what with the entrance fee and all."

Imoen shrugged, then smiled. "Okay." Then she quickly kicked her shoes off and started jumping on the bed.

"Hey now, don't be doing that!"

"Aww…" Imoen whined as her bouncing slowed to a stop.

"There's a good lass. Now your bag is in the corner there if you'd like to unpack, make the room more home-like. I'll be ordering you some new clothes as soon as I've caught up with some business. And you're not hungry yet?"

"Nope."

"Ah, well, holler when you are. And, uh, behave yourself, you two." Winthrop left the room then looking only slightly overwhelmed by the new responsibility of caring for a child, and closed the door behind him.

Imoen waited a few seconds before she started jumping on the bed again. "Yeah, unpacking sounds like lots of fun, Puffguts. I'll get right on that," she muttered to herself, giggling. After a few jumps Imoen noticed Mijandra staring at her. "You wanna jump, too?" Mijandra shook her head, and Imoen dropped onto the bed in a sitting position. "Didn't figure you would." Imoen tilted her head at her for a moment. "So, what's your story?"

"What do you mean?" Mijandra asked as she walked away from the wall and sat on the edge of the bed.

"How did you get here? What happened to your folks?"

Mijandra nudged her own shoes off before beginning her answer. "I don't know anything about my parents." She stood up on the bed and walked to the footboard. "They're probably dead." She put one foot and then the other onto it, balancing there as she continued, "I was in a place for a while, but Gorion found me and brought me here." She started walking along the footboard to one of the bedposts.

"A place?" Imoen asked as she followed Mijandra's progress.

"A place," Mijandra confirmed, stepping up onto the fist-sized ball topping the bedpost. Imoen stood and also attempted to balance on the footboard before taking a shaky step toward the bedpost opposite Mijandra. Her arms cart wheeled and she soon found herself bouncing slightly as her back hit the mattress.

Mijandra observed Imoen's pout with interest. "What about you?" she finally asked.

"Huh? Oh." Imoen sat up again, only to see Mijandra casually stepping from the bedpost back down to the floor. "I can't remember."

"Can't remember what part?" Mijandra asked as she walked towards the chest of drawers. 

"Anything," Imoen answered. "I can't remember anything before almost a tenday ago, except for my name and how old I am – eight, by the way."

Mijandra frowned as she began to climb the drawers. "It doesn't seem to bother you much." 

Mijandra heard the soft thump of Imoen stepping off the bed. "Yeah, it's strange, but it doesn't," Imoen answered. 

Mijandra turned to see Imoen climbing up the drawers after her as she walked across the top of the chest to the side of the wardrobe. "So what do you remember?"

"Waking up in a chair with a guy behind a desk." Imoen paused to grunt softly as she climbed further, while with a small jump Mijandra was soon pulling herself onto the top of the wardrobe. "Boring guy, seemed kinda cranky. He asked a bunch of weird boring questions." Imoen finished climbing the chest and looked up at Mijandra. "Got annoyed when I couldn't answer his questions because I couldn't remember anything. Then he said something about arranging for me to stay with a friend, Puffguts apparently, and after a few boring days locked in his house I was brought here."

"Do you know where you were?" Mijandra asked, watching carefully as Imoen seemed to be eyeing the height of the wardrobe.

"Athkatla, I think it was. Strange story, huh? I guess I should be more confused and afraid and stuff, but it doesn't seem so bad. This place seems nice, if a bit boring, and Puffguts is a lot of fun." Imoen then made her own, slightly larger jump, grabbing onto the edge of the wardrobe and attempting to climb up. She made little progress before one of her feet slipped and she swung outward, losing her grip on the edge and almost falling if not for Mijandra grabbing one of her arms. With Mijandra's other hand anchored to the opposite edge she and Imoen then managed to pull her the rest of the way up.

After getting herself settled Imoen pouted again. "You make it all look so easy."

Mijandra actually took a moment to consider her response. "Dresses are bad for climbing."

Imoen looked down at her freshly wrinkled dress. "I like dresses."

Mijandra considered again. "You could shorten it and wear pants under." 

"That would be better," Imoen agreed thoughtfully.

They sat in silence for a while before Mijandra spoke up. "You should be careful." They looked at each other. "You can't trust anybody here."

Imoen frowned. "Are they mean?"

Mijandra was quiet a moment. "No. They'll probably be nice to you. But that still doesn't mean they care. They don't."

"What do you mean?"

Mijandra took a deep breath. And another. Imoen needed to understand. Someone needed to understand.

"They call me 'child.' Probably will you, too. I used to wonder why. 'Child' is not my name. They know my name. It is Mijandra. I didn't understand why they wouldn't use my name. But I do, now." She dared a glance at Imoen, seeing genuine interest and concern. She continued. "They don't care about me. They were nice, but they didn't care. Not about **me**. Mijandra. It was 'child' they were being nice to. I know. Sixty-four days ago. I know." 

Mijandra wrapped her arms around her knees, laying her head between them before continuing. "The Keeper of the Tomes doesn't like me. I don't care. I don't like him. I was looking at the cage again. In the barracks, for criminals," Mijandra clarified when Imoen looked confused. "The Keeper of the Tomes came in, and said I belonged in it." Imoen gasped. "He must have been having a bad day. It had been a long time since he said something like that. 

"I wondered if he was right."

"Of course not!" Imoen shouted.

Mijandra shook her head. "I used to be in a cage. At…the place. I used to be…" She suddenly felt confined, shaking as memories of the cage came stronger than they ever had before. Imoen beside her. Like in the cage. There had been others in the cage with her. Other children. They sat next to her sometimes. 

But they never touched her. Never put a hand on her shoulder. Never said her name. "M-Mijandra?" She put her hand over Imoen's, as if to be sure it was there, and the cage began to fade.

With determination Mijandra continued. "At lunch I left the barracks. I went to the keep's kitchens, where the cook liked to feed me personally. Liked the joy of having a child around. She asked me what I wanted for desert. I asked her if I belonged in a cage." Mijandra shook her head. "Stupid question. Shouldn't have asked her. But the cage…was strong that day. She laughed the first time I asked. But…I kept asking. And then I tried to tell her. I tried to tell her…about the cage."

Mijandra's eyes closed and her head thudded against the wall behind her. "Shouldn't have. Not her. But now I know," she almost whispered. In a louder voice she continued, "I still remember exactly what she said. When she finally realized I wasn't joking." She sneered the last word. "I…can't forget it. There was fear in her eyes. 'Come now, don't talk about such nonsense, child. Tell you what, how would you like two desserts?'" Mijandra's fist suddenly slammed down against the wardrobe, in contrast to the quiet voice that continued, "She saw me. I was showing her **me**, Mijandra, and she turned me away. She didn't want me, didn't care about me. She just wanted a child. Any child, it didn't matter. Its name didn't matter." Mijandra's fist shook against the top of the wardrobe. "Children don't talk about cages. They just want dessert. Lots of dessert."

Mijandra's head leaned forward again. "The others here are the same. I could tell. The way they treated me. The way they called me 'child'. They don't care about me. They just want a child, a child to laugh at, and feel smarter than, and stronger than, and make fat with sweets. They don't care about me. They don't want to know **me**. If I tried to tell them they would turn me a way, too. They don't want to know why I've changed. They don't want to know why I get angry, now. They don't want to know why I run so much. Why I run until I can't run anymore. To stop the anger from making me do something else. They don't want to know how hard it is now to remember to climb back down from a tree instead of just letting go." Mijandra began to finger one of her sleeves. "They don't want to know…why I do this."

Mijandra pulled back the sleeve, and Imoen gasped as criss-crossed lines of scabs both new and old were revealed. "They don't want to know that pain distracts me from the cold. So c-cold in the cage. They don't want to know how cold it was." Mijandra's thumb moved up and down her arm. "They don't want to know about the cage. They don't want to know about the cold."

She pulled her sleeve back down. "They're not nice to me, anymore. They were nice when I was just the 'quiet child'. But I'm not quiet anymore. Now I'm d-disturbed. 'Disturbed child'. They think I don't hear them when they say it."

Mijandra hugged her knees again. "I feel the cage every day now. Feel like I'm still in it. Never left. It just got bigger. But still too small. Small and cold. So c-cold." Mijandra began to shake again. "It's so cold, and no one will give me a name."

"Mijandra!" Mijandra looked up and was shocked to see Imoen with tears in her eyes. "Mijandra is your name." Then Imoen hugged her tightly. "And I care. I care about you, Mijandra." She sniffled. "I want to know. Whatever you want to tell me I want to know. And I'll always call you by your name."

Mijandra could think of nothing to say. Silently she sat in Imoen's arms, slowly, tentatively returning the embrace. She felt warm. For the first time Mijandra could remember she felt completely warm.

"What about…Gorion?" Imoen finally broke the silence. "He cares about you, doesn't he?"

Mijandra scowled, replying in undisguised anger, "No. I am only his…research subject." 

"What?"

"He writes letters every so often. Letters that he keeps warded so no one can read them. But thirty-three days ago he finally slipped, and I was waiting. The letter was about me. But it didn't use my name. It called me Veil instead. It was to some 'dear distinguished colleagues', and he talked about me like some kind of animal he was studying. An experiment for him, taking care of the disturbed child."

There was a moment before Imoen responded. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I knew I couldn't trust him."

Another silence, Imoen swallowing. "He looked like he cared about you. You might have misunderstood."

"I didn't."

Imoen sighed and fell silent. Mijandra was glad. She did not want to talk now. She did not want to think now. She just wanted to bask in the elusive warmth she was feeling.

"Sister," she finally said at length. 

"What?" Imoen asked, leaning back to look at her. 

"Besides Mijandra. You can also call me sister. If you want."

Imoen blinked a few times, then smiled. "Okay."

* * *

"Hey sis, I've got something for ya!" Mijandra looked down to see Imoen holding a handful of wrinkled papers.

"Where have you been?" Mijandra asked, landing at the base of the tree. 

"Getting these. Read them," Imoen said, pushing the papers into Mijandra's hands.

Mijandra looked at Imoen with her equivalent of a frown of confusion – indistinguishable by most from the completely blank expression she normally wore. Then she looked down and read the first line of the topmost paper, a greeting to a letter. A greeting that she knew well. "I don't want to read this," Mijandra said, pushing the papers back towards Imoen. 

"Yes, you do." Mijandra had gotten to know many of Imoen's expressions over the past two days. This one was new. Mijandra decided to read further.

And the moment she did she found Imoen was right. She read halfway through before recalling there was more than one paper in her hand. She hastily shuffled to the next one, and found she wanted to read it, too. And the one after it. "Where did you find these?"

"All over his desk. The whole room was a mess. I don't think he's been in it for a while."

Mijandra responded by shuffling to another paper. The handwriting was barely recognizable as his, frantic and messy, covered in scratches of ink to correct error after error. The writing suffered similar ailment, bordering on incoherent in places. Words and phrases repeated across the letters. 'Please, help her.' '…begging…' 'I'm losing her.' '…my baby girl.' One letter spoke the last at least three times. And while all the letters showed spots of water damage, that one appeared to have been soaked, and badly wrinkled besides.

Mijandra recalled the time she saw him coming out of his study four days ago. Ink was on his nose and brow. His eyes were red.

"Do you see?" Imoen asked.

Mijandra had stopped reading and simply stared at the papers in her hands. She could not dismiss it. Could not refute it. And truthfully, she did not want to. She wanted it to be real. She missed him. She wanted him to be her father again.

Mijandra wiped away a tear on her cheek, then slowly turned and hugged Imoen. "Thank you."

* * *

As part of her chores at the inn, Imoen was helping the cook with breakfast. Not that her help was needed or even helpful, as she struggled to reach ingredients and utensils the cook could have retrieved for herself in half the time. No, Mijandra knew the real reason why Imoen was there. She'd been in this situation, before. 

The cook gave Imoen an amused smile as she watched her stand on her tip-toes to stir the pancake batter. Mijandra mentally scowled and got up from her seat to get Imoen a stool.

Imoen smiled at her. "Thanks, Mijandra."

The cook smiled, as well. "Yes, that was very thoughtful of you." Mijandra looked at the cook with another invisible mental scowl. '_Which makes you thoughtless, hag.'_ Oh, she would have eventually suggested a stool to Imoen. And she would have done it in that patronizing way, her eyes dancing with laughter at Imoen's expense.

Much as they did now as they looked at Mijandra. "Child, roll your other sleeve up, you look foolish like that." She then took the liberty of grabbing Mijandra's sleeve to begin rolling it up for her. 

Mijandra jerked the arm away and took a step back. She then rolled her other sleeve down to make them even, watching the cook as she did so.

The cook sighed and turned away. "Fine then, wear your sleeves out in this heat if that's what you want, child." 

Mijandra wordlessly returned to her seat at the nearby table and went back to watching Imoen, who she noticed had stopped stirring. "She doesn't like being called child," Imoen said, looking at the cook.

"Oh really?" Those laughing eyes turned to Mijandra again. "Thinks she's all grown up, does she?" 

Imoen shook her head. "No. She'd just rather you called her by her name."

"Is that right, Mijandra?" the cook asked her.

The eyes continued their laughter. Mijandra knew she had only to ask and the cook would try not to call her child anymore. She would be nice to her again, and she would call her by her name. And her eyes would laugh all the while, thinking it a game. Children liked games, after all.

Mijandra's eyes narrowed. She was no different from the cook at the keep. "No," she answered. "You don't need to use my name. I'd rather not be lied to." Then she got up from her seat and walked to one of the shelves along the wall.

She heard it as she climbed, her ears once again underestimated. A sigh, and then a whisper. "Disturbed child." She gritted her teeth and continued climbing. It hardly phased her anymore. A sudden shriek, however, left her quite startled and nearly made her fall.

Mijandra shortly gathered her wits and jumped down, turning around to see the cook with a mixing bowl resting upside-down on her head, pancake batter dripping down her face, and an irate Imoen glaring at her. "She's not disturbed!" Imoen shouted as she stood on the stool Mijandra had brought her. The cook slowly removed the mixing bowl from her head. Imoen crossed her arms defiantly as the cook's face began to turn a furious red under the pancake batter.

And for the first time in months, Mijandra laughed.

* * *

Mijandra laughed again. This was Imoen's best find, yet. 

"Brown eyes so true,  
No other's cheese will do,  
The way that you moo,  
I love you."

Imoen sighed dramatically, closing Dreppin's "missing" book of poetry over her heart and pretending to wipe a tear from her eye. "There is nothing more moving than the love between a dairy man and his cow." 

"Indeed," Mijandra managed as her laughter began to die down.

"You suppose we should write in some critique before I put this back? Help him improve his poetry, maybe? I'm sure Nessie would appreciate it."

"Oh, I'm sure she would." They both shared a snicker as they traveled the last few feet to the lake.

"Ah, finally. We haven't been here in forever," Imoen said joyously, already undressing. She waited until she was mostly finished before shouting, "Last one in is a rotten egg!" 

Normally Mijandra would have found this unfair. Normally Mijandra would not have had any trouble hearing Imoen's challenge. But certain things just weren't normal, lately.

It had indeed been a while since they last came to the lake, and in that time Imoen had started changing. Only now did Mijandra see the full extent of it. A hint of curves at the hips, a gentle swell to each breast, hair growing in new places. Mijandra found it fascinating. Very fascinating.

Imoen jumped into the water and emerged facing Mijandra. She stood there, water dripping down her small chest, and Mijandra found that fascinating, too. "Come on, slowpoke, what are you waiting for!"

Mijandra blinked and nearly blushed as she realized she hadn't moved an inch since Imoen had undressed. She hastily began removing her clothes, still distracted, having a much more difficult time of it than seemed necessary.

Though there was more than just Imoen's chest distracting her. There was also Imoen's eyes. For they watched her as she undressed, and learned of the changes Mijandra was undergoing, as well. And they soon began to shine with a fascination that mirrored her own.

* * *

"It's past midnight. Happy birthday!"

"You should be asleep."

"Hey. You're not."

"I only need four hours."

"Oh, whatever. You're supposed to be my sister, not my mom."

"Your big sister." 

"Right, like you're any older than me."

"I'm two years older than you."

"Year and a half. And I'm not talking numbers, anyway, I mean in spirit."

"…You should still be asleep."

"Whatever. So, fourteen years. What's it feel like?"

"It feels like I'm going to get presents tomorrow."

"Today, you mean."

"Yeah." 

"And that's it?"

"That's it."

"…I love that feeling."

"It's nice."

"…Hey, Mijandra?"

"Yes?"

"Do you still get…cold?" 

"Huh?"

"Like it was… Like you told me about years ago. You said sometimes you felt cold, like you were in a cage."

"…I don't think so."

"What do you mean, you don't think so?"

"I remember saying…things like that, but I can't remember what I meant. I haven't thought about the cage in a long time."

"R…really?"

"Yeah." 

"Not at all?"

"Not that I can remember…Imoen, are you crying?"

"N-no, of course not. Haha! Birthday hug!"

"Oof."

"Happy Birthday, Mijy! I love you, sis."

"I love you, too. And don't call me Mijy." 

"Mijy Mijy Mijy!"

"Quit it, Mon-Mon!" 

"Hahaha! Okay, okay. Goodnight Mijy."

"…Goodnight, Mon-Mon."


	7. Company

Note: I believe there's no official word on where Oghma was during the Time of Troubles, so I'm assuming he went to Candlekeep. 

**Chapter 7 - Company**

_To My Dear Distinguished Colleagues:_

We need no longer call "the dead one" by such as an anticipatory gesture, for he is now truly dead. 

My suspicions began when I overheard Veil repeating Alaundo's prophecy over and over in a corner of the southern libraries. Yes, **that** prophecy. I am nearly certain she has never read it before, even more certain she has not memorized it, and what's more she was reciting it backwards. She then collapsed and did not awake for another hour, retaining no memory of the episode.

As I said, this had my suspicions peaked, and I sought an audience with Lord Oghma for verification. I had the honor of witnessing him cast the divination, and he confirmed my beliefs. The dead one is indeed dead.

This does not seem to have had any lasting effect on Veil. She seemed a bit perturbed by her spontaneous lapse of consciousness, but is otherwise right as rain. I am inclined to be optimistic, and think that the passing of the dead one can only be good news for Veil. She has shown no sign of feeling his influence, but I can now be certain she never will.

Sincerely,  
Gorion

* * *

He wore the biggest hat Mijandra had ever seen. Very big and very red. Briefly Mijandra wondered if her visions had moved away from the morbid and were now throwing clowns at her.

He was rather different from most clowns she'd seen, though. No make-up, and a respectable beard covering much of a wise old face. Still, there was something about him – besides his big hat and vibrant red robes – that made him seem bright and comical and so utterly harmless, and Mijandra almost found herself wanting to smile. She had always liked clowns.

It soon became certain that he was not a vision, at least, when Imoen returned his greeting. "Heya, mister." 

"Hello," Mijandra followed.

The man smiled. "Would ye stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man? It's been nigh unto a tenday since I've seen a soul walking this road, and I've been without decent conversation since."

"Okay," Mijandra answered, turning in time to see Imoen's look of surprise. The faintest of amused smiles touched Mijandra's lips, and Imoen was shortly sticking her tongue out in response.

The man's smile widened at their antics, confusing as they no doubt were, before sitting against a nearby boulder with a groaning sigh. Shaking his head he fixed the two girls before him with a curious stare. "Traveling nowadays appears to be the domain of either the desperate or the deranged. If ye would pardon my intrusion, might I inquire which pertains to thee?"

Mijandra was silent a moment, then shook her head slightly. "I don't like either." 

The man smiled wryly. "I would imagine not, but one need not always like an answer for it to be correct."

Imoen groaned. "Oh, gods, that's cheesy. Do you old people go through special training to learn to spew stuff like that, or does it just come naturally with age?"

The man's eyebrows rose, and then he broke into a chuckle. Once again Mijandra was impressed. Imoen always seemed to know who could appreciate a good ribbing and who couldn't. "It takes training of a sort, spirited one," the old man answered warmly.

"Well, that's a relief," Imoen said, making an exaggerated show of wiping imaginary sweat from her brow. "And say, why are you dressed like Elminster?"

Elminster? '_Oh, right, the great sage of Shadowdale.'_ Mijandra wondered how Imoen would know how Elminster dresses, but then if you're one of the most powerful mages in the realms information about you probably gets around. And Imoen tended to read everything she could about magic, determined to learn wizardry despite abandoning her formal magic lessons. Mijandra had sat in on a lesson once, and was convinced they'd given Imoen the dullest, driest, and most tangent-prone magic teacher in all of Candlekeep to deliberately dissuade her from ever learning it, most likely thinking she got into enough mischief already without magic at her disposal.

Presently the man sitting against a boulder raised an eyebrow. "And what makes ye assume I am not he?" he answered Imoen.

"Oh, come on. Elminster wouldn't be walking on some road; he can teleport. And if for some reason he couldn't, he could surely afford a horse."

"Oh, no, I'm sure Elminster would walk on occasion," the old man responded. "He needs to keep a stout pair of legs under him as much as the next person. He can't always have horses and teleport spells at the ready when trouble arises." 

"Yeah, well, you still haven't answered my question. Why ya dressed like him?" Imoen continued without even waiting for an answer. "And what was with that goofy question, anyway? I think I know what your answer would be. Pestering strangers about their mental state doesn't seem too well-adjusted to me."

The old man chuckled again. "Point well taken, and ye have answered my query most adequately. I shall think of the two of thee as determined. Does that satisfy thee?" the old man asked Mijandra, who eventually nodded. He lifted a hand to dip his hat at them. "Then I shall trouble thee no more, as ye are more than capable of the task at hand. North is the Friendly Arm Inn, where I am certain ye shall find trustworthy friends awaiting. It was a privilege speaking with both of thee." He smiled with the slight emphasis on 'both'. "Fare thee well." Then with admirable speed for an old man he was off.

Several moments passed in silence before Imoen's mouth finally fell open to utter, "Huh?" Mijandra agreed with the sentiment completely. Task at hand? And how could he know about Jaheira and Khalid?

It soon became certain to Mijandra that the man in the big red hat had not been a clown, either. Yet despite it all he still seemed harmless, and Imoen and Mijandra were quickly on their way.

It had been a good morning. No visions, no path. Not like last night. But Mijandra could feel, in the strange pressure in her mind, in her bones, that it was only a matter of time. Reverie had strengthened her, as it always had against one strife or another, but this was different from anything before. The path would find her again.

When the time came and it finally did some time in the afternoon, her reaction was much more to her liking than those of the previous day. She got angry. Not that she liked anger – it was dangerous, it made her stupid – but it was still better than fear, better than weakness, and far more familiar. She knew how to handle anger. She'd been doing it for a long time. 

She could handle it so well Imoen didn't suspect anything was wrong until Mijandra clipped a tree with her shoulder. It helped that the visions weren't as crippling as before. She saw the black forest, saw black, white, and red, but at the same time she could also see normally. It was all mixed together in a confusing mess that was difficult, but not impossible to make sense of. And she could still hear.

But hearing was also a mess, for there was one thing that was worse than the day before. Much worse. She now knew some of what awaited her at the end of the path. Ice. Red ice. Death. It sang to her from the path. It sang to her from within her veins. It flowed there, vibrating with perverse excitement, ready to rise to the surface, ready to kill at her command, ready to subvert her to its will. She ignored it as she did the path, but as with the path that did not make it go away.

The sun was setting when they finally reached the gates of the Friendly Arm Inn. Imoen held Mijandra's arm as they approached the guards. Mijandra suffered no physical weakness this time, but Imoen insisted on guiding her after seeing her nearly trip on a pebble. It only made Mijandra angrier, furious even. Not that she minded depending on Imoen; that was an every day – every second – occurrence. Depending on Imoen for **this**, though, for just walking straight, was new. But the real irritation, and worry, was that she couldn't protect Imoen in this state.

Not that Imoen saw any of her anger. Mijandra never allowed that.

"Welcome to the Friendly Arm," the guard on the left said uneasily. "May I trust the blood on your armor was acquired honestly?" Imoen began to squirm slightly, and Mijandra predicted their next conversation would start with 'I told you it wasn't clean enough.'

"W-what do you mean honestly, mister?" Imoen asked.

The guard frowned. "Self-defense," he answered, as if it should be obvious to any decent person.

"Oh, oh! Yeah, yeah. There were bandits, and…," Imoen took a breath before continuing, only to be interrupted.

"You two fended off bandits all by yourselves?" asked the guard on the right. Before Imoen could answer he turned to the other guard, "That armor she's wearing looks a bit beyond their means, eh sir?"

Mijandra had to fight not to respond to that, as it would have been a very angry response. Fortunately, the guard on the left brought an end to any further accusations.

"Nah, they don't look the bandit sort. I ain't never seen an elven bandit around here, and this one is little more than a child." His mouth twitched as Imoen's nervous look turned into a scowl. "Jumpy little thing, too. Wouldn't make much of a bandit."

"But sir…," the guard on the right started after Mijandra squeezed Imoen's hand to stop her from proclaiming that she'd make a great bandit.

The guard on the left shook his head and leveled a stern look at his comrade. "We ain't Flaming Fist, Harold. We don't get no medals for catching bandits. We just keep the Friendly Arm safe. Even bandits know not to cause trouble here, and if these two are bandits I'll eat my helmet."

"I'd like to see that," Imoen grumbled.

The guard turned back to them. "You two look like you've had an especially rough time out there. Especially you," the guard said looking at Mijandra. "You look like you could use some attention from our priestess." Even on good days Mijandra spared little concern for her appearance, so she managed not to take offense at being told she looked bad enough to need divine assistance.

"Maybe that's not a bad idea, Mijandra," Imoen said.

Mijandra shook her head and said simply, "Need money."

"Aye," the guard on the right nodded, filled with confidence by his superior's proffered helmet-eating and now completely free of suspicion. "Unless you two are the tallest gnomes I've ever seen you'll likely need a few coin." He paused to wait for confusion to cross their – or at least Imoen's – faces before continuing, "She's a cleric of Garl Glittergold." 

Imoen nodded in understanding, though Mijandra was still left in the dark. "Patron god of gnomes," Imoen explained to her. 

The left guard clapped his hands together. "Well, I'm sure you could use some safety, at least, and we've some well-priced beds for travelers a bit down on their luck. You can come on in, though I must ask if you know the rules."

"Rules?" Imoen asked.

"That would be a no, then? 'Rules' is perhaps a touch too formal, nothing written down exactly. And let me start with a bit of general advice: guards don't like seeing folks covered in bloodstains. I'd suggest you get some new armor, miss." Mijandra said nothing. "Right. Now." The guard cleared his throat, and all tone of casual banter left his voice. "It is accepted, that while herein you will act with the utmost of civility to all other guests. This is neutral ground, and all grievances are left at the gates. If the grievances come in, then you will go out. Any fighting or stealing within sight of these walls will be met with the fullest of frontier justice."

"If you catch the thief," Imoen added with a wink, and despite her mood Mijandra almost smiled.

The guard frowned again. "Another bit of advice, miss. Guards don't like being winked at."

"Yes, sir," Imoen responded with a salute, and the guard's mouth twitched again.

"Enjoy your stay," he said, waving them in.

"You know, we have money, Mijandra. We could go see the priestess," Imoen said once they were away from the guards. 

Mijandra took a deep breath. "This is a lot more than a common blessing can fix, Im. **If** the priestess can do anything, it's sure to cost a lot more than we have."

"Well, we could check at least, couldn't we?"

Mijandra shook her head. "It's not a good idea to let people know I have power over death. There's enough people after me already, eh?" Mijandra said with an ironic smile that Imoen could rarely resist.

This time was no different, and Imoen was soon giggling and biting her lip. "Yeah, good point." Then she leaned in for a kiss, which Mijandra was only too glad to accept as a remedy for her current mood.

Unfortunately the kiss was interrupted, which was very bad for her mood. A man-shape in robes, difficult to discern with the sun directly behind him and the chaos in Mijandra's vision, approached them. In an unfamiliar voice and a tone that immediately set Mijandra on edge he began, "Hi friend. I've not seen you here before today. What bri-"

He finished prematurely when Mijandra planted her fist in his face. "I am not your friend. You do not know me." Using the word 'friend' casually had always bothered her, and his timing was terrible. Her intuition told her his motives were far from benign, and her temper had finally broken free of her control.

"How rude," the man said, gently feeling his jaw as he got up. "No really, that is utterly rude of you. I'd teach you a lesson about manners, but that implies that you are going to live." Mijandra saw it now. Flecks of red danced around him with affection. Death was this man's friend. His business. An assassin. "If I weren't going to anyway, I'd kill you just for being so uppity." Then, either not noticing or ignoring the guards that were approaching after seeing Mijandra's attack, he began the motions and incantations of spellcasting.

Mijandra lunged at him, but she was not at her best and he was expecting her now, and easily dodged away without breaking his spell. Mijandra turned with blades drawn as his spell finished, only to see that there were now five of him; four after an arrow shot through one, causing it to fade away. 

"Mirror images!" Imoen shouted. "Only one of them is real!" As she spoke he began casting another spell, and Mijandra struggled to clear her head.

She hadn't exerted herself today until now, and all the chaos in her senses left her dizzy. She soon saw she'd be getting no help from the guards, either, as the assassin finished his spell and sent them all running away in terror as Xzar had the bandits the day before.

Mijandra gritted her teeth. This did not look good.

* * *

"He is late."

"Y-yes, he is dear. B-but only one d-day, no c-cause for worry I'm s-sure."

"Any delay is cause for worry, Khalid. How much worry depends on how long the delay."

Khalid sighed and bowed his head. "I-I wonder if you only ch-chafe at being idle f-for s-so long, dear. Is it s-so bad, to have some t-time to ourselves to r-relax?"

Jaheira smiled softly at her husband. "I cannot deny there is some truth to your words – at least, not and have you believe it." She stopped to rest her hand over his on the table. "But the company does make the waiting much more bearable," she said, squeezing his hand and broadening her smile ever so slightly. Khalid returned the smile, and Jaheira relished in one of the few moments of open affection that she allowed herself.

Short as that moment would have been, it still managed to be interrupted, by a scream from outside as it turned out. A scream of a name. The name of one of those they were waiting for.

"MIJANDRA!"


	8. Choosing

**Chapter 8 - Choosing**

_BOUNTY NOTICE_

_Be it known to all those of evil intent, that a bounty has been placed upon the head of Mijandra, the foster child of Gorion._

_Mijandra is a dark-haired, silver-eyed moon elf with blue-tinged skin, looking between 15 and 20 summers old. Her hair may be tied with a pink ribbon, but she otherwise carries no identifying marks or possessions._

_Last seen in the area of Candlekeep, Mijandra is to be killed in quick order._

_This offer has been extended to all appropriate guilds._

_Those returning with proof of the deed shall receive no less than two hundred coins of gold._

_As always, any that reveal these plans to the forces of law shall join the target in their fate._

* * *

"Who are you?!" shouted the girl wearing a rather short purple dress – little more than a shirt – and breeches. She had a bow trained on them, quite steadily despite the shaking in her voice.

"We just saved you, child, and you point a weapon at us?" Jaheira questioned angrily, frozen in her crouch to take a closer look at the elven girl, most likely Mijandra, who lay at her feet.

"D-dear," Khalid began soothingly, yet worried, "Gorion is n-not with them."

Jaheira's anger dissipated at that chilling observation, and reflexively she scanned the area for sign of Gorion, her heart lurching at the implications of his absence. It would certainly explain the girl's lack of trust.

The tension on the girl's bow loosened. "Are…are you Jaheira and Khalid?"

"Yes," Jaheira answered quickly, eager to ask some questions of her own but delayed by the girl's explosion of relief.

"Thank Tymora!" She dropped her arrow and the bow fell loose at her side. Then her knees fell, too, as she frantically scooted next to Mijandra. "We need to help her! She got hit."

"Hit by what, child?" Jaheira asked, finding it safe now to kneel by the fallen elf.

"Spellbolts. Two of them," she answered in a needlessly high pitch.

Jaheira grimaced. "Calm down, girl, it shouldn't be cause for panic. A strong punch will often do more damage than a magic missile can." Jaheira leaned her ear to Mijandra's head and felt the pulse at her neck. "She lives, and her breathing is untroubled. Honestly, I'm surprised this was enough to knock her out the way Gorion speaks of her."

"So you're not going to get her healing?" the girl asked incredulously and with a hint of anger.

Jaheira scoffed. "Of course I will, child. She may not be dying but she is still injured and vulnerable." As if to challenge that assessment Mijandra was suddenly awake with the point of a dagger against Jaheira's throat.

"Who are you?" she asked. Jaheira rolled her eyes.

"Sis, it's Jaheira," the girl said with a calming hand around Mijandra's wrist. "And Khalid. They saved us." She tried to sound serious but her joy at seeing Mijandra awake was palpable.

After hearing his name Jaheira realized she could no longer feel Khalid's leg against her side as she could before. She spotted him searching the body of the mage and quickly returned to the matter at hand.

"So you are Mijandra?" Jaheira asked the elven girl who now had her head resting in the other girl's lap. She had thankfully put her dagger away.

"Yes," the elf answered.

"And you are the 'sister'…forgive me, but I have forgotten your name."

"Imoen," the girl answered. "Imoen the Humble," she added with a grin, and Jaheira arched an eyebrow. "Gorion told you about me?"

"Told us about the wicked girl who turned his daughter to thievery? Yes, he did," Jaheira answered without an ounce of humor, though that did not stop Imoen from bursting into laughter. Mijandra chuckled as well, though only briefly before groaning in pain.

"What's wrong?" Imoen asked Mijandra, frantic once again, looking worriedly at Jaheira. "She needs healing," Imoen said, fumbling in a pocket. "I have a potion…"

Jaheira was about to shout at her to calm down again when she heard several feet approaching. She turned to see a handful of guards advancing towards them, their captain among them, looking rather upset.

The captain of the guard crossed his arms. "Would you like to explain why you have brought violence and death inside the walls of the Friendly Arm?"

"Are you blind?" Jaheira huffed. "These two children were attacked by that mage and we came to their aid!"

"Oh, really? My men say the elf struck the first blow."

Before Jaheira could turn an accusatory glare at Mijandra Imoen shouted, "But not to kill! She just punched him! She just wanted him to leave us alone!"

"That could be true, sir," another guard said. "The elf didn't reach for her weapons till after he started hurling magic about."

The captain began tapping a finger on his bicep. "Alright, but she's still not completely innocent. She provoked…" He trailed off as he overheard the murmuring of a guard glancing over the body.

"I thought that was Tarnesh."

"Tarnesh?" the captain asked, walking closer to verify for himself. "So it is." He shook his head. "Now I'm almost inclined to be lenient; I've wanted to punch the scoundrel a few times myself."

"S-s-s-s-sir," Khalid began, approaching the captain. Jaheira sighed inwardly. His stutter almost crippled him when he spoke with people in authority. "Y-y-y-you should s-s-see this," he continued, holding out a scroll of paper. "He w-w-was an as-as-as-assass-ass-ass-si-si-"

"An assassin," Mijandra finished for him, and Jaheira wanted to growl. Khalid always blamed himself when people did that. "He used his magic against the guards. He was trying to kill me, not defend himself." She groaned as she spoke, struggling to stand and gently batting away Imoen's attempts to stop her.

The captain took the scroll from Khalid, shaking his head as he read. "Bounties on children," he murmured, then spat in the general vicinity of Tarnesh's body. He returned the scroll to Khalid before looking at Mijandra. "Hell, you're just a baby by elven standards. Maybe why you couldn't control your temper, hm?" Mijandra simply returned his stare, looking completely unaffected by his words. "Try to keep your hands to yourself, kid. I don't want to hear about anymore trouble from you." He gave them a dismissive wave as he turned around. "You can go about your business."

Imoen let out a loud breath of relief as the guards walked away, then returned her attention to Mijandra's health with remarkable speed and enthusiasm. "How do you feel? I don't think you should be standing. Should she be standing? She needs healing."

"Alright already! I will heal her now if it will silence you," Jaheira said with exasperation. She turned to Mijandra and performed the brief ritual and prayers given by Silvanus to summon healing magic. When the prayers were done she placed her hand on Mijandra's forehead and felt the life energies leave her, entering Mijandra's body to do their work. She held Mijandra's complete attention from beginning to end, with a lingering look at Jaheira's hand when it was done.

"You're a priestess?" Imoen asked with mild surprise.

"Yes. I am a druid of Silvanus," Jaheira answered. "And now that that is out of the way, I fear you have some unpleasant questions to answer. Questions best asked in private I think."

* * *

"Where is Gorion?" Jaheira asked as soon as they had settled in the small private dining room. Mijandra and Imoen sat together on the other side of the table, Khalid next to Jaheira cleaning his sword.

"Dead," Mijandra answered flatly.

Jaheira closed her eyes against the waiting tears, breathing deeply. "How? Who killed him?" she asked heatedly, anger already rising to save her from any other emotion.

"A man with burning eyes," Mijandra answered in a distant voice, looking at the table.

"Yeah, his eyes glowed gold," Imoen continued, her hand on her sister's shoulder. "He was really big, with a big sword and heavy armor. His helmet had big horns on it, and I think it was made to look like a demon's face. He ambushed Gorion and Mijandra at night, and him and Gorion talked a bit before Gorion made Mijandra run and the armored guy attacked. Gorion beat him up pretty good, but…he lost in the end."

"And where were you all this time?"

"In a tree."

"What did Gorion and this man speak of before the fight started?"

"I don't know, I couldn't hear well enough."

Jaheira turned to Mijandra for her answer, and found Mijandra staring at the table, seemingly unaware that a discussion was going on around her. "Mijandra," Jaheira said impatiently, making her look up, and was about to repeat the question when Mijandra answered.

"I only remember his eyes."

Jaheira frowned in confusion and frustration. "What do you mean, you only remember his eyes?"

Imoen took Mijandra's hand then, looking at her intently and saying just above a whisper, "Mijandra?"

Mijandra looked back at Imoen a moment, then shook her head. Jaheira had the impression a very important question had just been asked and answered, and she had no idea what it was.

"Do not keep things from me. I would know of Gorion's killer and I would see your father avenged!" Jaheira finished just under a shout.

"So would I," Mijandra answered, looking Jaheira in the eye. "I only remember his eyes."

Jaheira could feel herself ready to explode when she felt Khalid's hand on her arm. As it had many times before in the midst of anger his touch grounded her, allowed her to return to reality. She remained angry, but now she retained the presence of mind to keep it under control.

There was no sense getting angry at these children. And if Mijandra truly couldn't tell her anything more, there was no sense lingering on this subject any longer. "Perhaps the two of you could shed some light on this bounty, then?" Jaheira handed the scroll to them, Mijandra unrolling it and both of them reading it at the same time.

"Pink?" Imoen said suddenly, sounding offended. "Mijandra's ribbon is not pink!" Jaheira pinched the bridge of her nose and longed for Khalid's hand again, which had returned to cleaning his sword.

"Close enough," Jaheira said tersely. "In fact that ribbon makes her quite easy to identify," she added more calmly.

Mijandra and Imoen looked at each other. "It's okay with me if you don't wear it for a while," Imoen said.

Mijandra shook her head slowly. "I can't," she said, faintly apologetic.

Imoen smiled, leaning her head on Mijandra's shoulder and wrapping an arm around her front. "You big bufflehead," she mumbled, with more affection than many speak words of love.

Jaheira was getting a headache. "Not that I honestly expect you to, but do either of you have any idea why there's a bounty Mijandra?"

Imoen slowly raised her head from Mijandra's shoulder, looking thoughtful. "Not exactly…but we do have that letter from E," she said turning to Mijandra.

"E?" Jaheira asked.

"Yeah, to Gorion," Imoen responded as Mijandra retrieved the letter from her pack and slid it across the table.

Jaheira snapped it up and read it quickly. It appeared to be from a Harper, perhaps even… '_Could it be? Rumor has it they were friends._ The letter made it seem as if the Harpers had an interest, a strong interest, in Mijandra for some reason. Reasons Gorion had not felt fit to tell herself and Khalid. She fought the feeling of hurt that caused, telling herself Harper business was more important than personal feelings. Breathing deeply, she handed the letter to Khalid. She soon heard him reading out loud under his breath, as was his habit, and smiled inwardly. The things she took comfort from sometimes.

"Yeah, so we think the letter's from a Harper, and that the Harpers think Mijandra is important for some reason. But say, you could make more sense of it then we could." Jaheira heard Khalid's reading stop, and blinked several times herself before she could respond to Imoen's voicing of suspicious identical to her own.

"What makes you think this is from a Harper?"

"Father was a Harper," Mijandra answered. "And so are you."

"How…how do you know this? I can't believe he would have told you."

"We're master thieves. Nothing is hidden from us. We figured it out a long time ago," Imoen answered proudly.

Jaheira sighed, struggling with how to deal with this situation.

"Why am I important to the Harpers?" Mijandra asked, and Jaheira looked at her in surprise.

"I do not know why or if you even are for certain."

"I am. Gorion wrote letters to the Harpers about me. Detailed letters that didn't use my real name. He kept them warded."

"Mijandra…," Imoen began, suddenly sad and frightened.

Mijandra looked at Imoen. "Don't worry, sis. I know I was his daughter. I know that. But I remember the letter, and it's important now." She turned back to Jaheira. "I was…am his daughter, but there is more to it than that. Why am I important to the Harpers, Jaheira?"

Jaheira shook her head slowly. "I do not know. I never saw any of the letters you speak of. Gorion's letters to us were all of a personal nature. He wrote of you a great deal in all of them, but as a father speaks of his daughter, nothing more."

"It w-was very s-s-sweet, actually, how m-m-much he wrote of y-you," Khalid said, smiling. "D-do you kn-know where we p-put them, Jaheira? I think M-Mijandra should have them, t-to remember her f-father."

"Perhaps, but I know not exactly where they are and we've more important concerns at the moment."

"O-of course, d-dear." He looked at Mijandra again, suddenly solemn. "Know that we grieve his loss with you. He was a great man."

Mijandra nodded in response, then said, "I think your sword is clean, now."

Jaheira could feel Khalid's sudden surge of discomfort. "S-s-s-s-so-so-so it is." Jaheira guessed that he'd continued cleaning it long after any sign of blood was gone. It was a common occurrence. He hated violence. He understood that it was often necessary, especially when one actively opposes the forces of evil, but he still hated it.

"Well, it is getting late," Jaheira said, taking the attention off her husband to his relief. "We will get you rooms here tonight and discuss what we are to do tomorrow. Khalid and I are currently looking into the iron crisis and would ask that you join us, but it will be your choice. If there is nothing else?" she asked, ready to head for the door.

"There is," Mijandra answered.

"What?" Jaheira asked.

"The healing spell you used on me."

"What about it?"

"Was it in your hand?"

Jaheira's brow creased. "I'm not sure I understand."

"The healing came from your hand. Before you touched me, was the…magic in your hand? Waiting?"

Jaheira studied Mijandra curiously, seeing Imoen do the same. "Yes, it was. The energy waits in my hand until I touch the target for healing."

Mijandra looked at the table for a moment. "What does it feel like? In your hand?" she asked finally.

"It…is warm…and yet cool, as a breeze. Alternating between whichever sensation you focus on. And…volatile, perhaps. It…pulses with every movement of the hand. Why do you ask?"

Mijandra ignored the question and continued with another of her own. "Does it ever…talk? Or sing?"

Jaheira was finding each question more surprising than the last. "Yes…in a manner of speaking. When one first wields primal energies there are many sensations, and they can easily overwhelm. The energies have will of a sort, and though the will is simple it can be powerful. Magic wielders are quickly trained to block out this will, lest they succumb to obsession. It is not a difficult lesson, but an important one."

Mijandra paused again. "Primal energies?"

"Yes. Like fire, water, earth, and air. Healing spells summon the primal energy of life."

"Positive energy," Imoen said.

"Yes, that is what many call it," Jaheira responded.

"What about…is there death energy?" Mijandra asked.

"Negative energy…" Imoen whispered, as if to herself.

Jaheira had to fight the desire to demand why Mijandra was asking these questions. From what Gorion told them of Mijandra, Jaheira knew that would get her nowhere. Her only hope of understanding was to follow these questions to their conclusion.

"There is a death energy, yes, usually called negative energy. It powers spells of wounding and slaying, the opposite of healing spells."

"Wounding?" Mijandra asked, staring into the palm of her hand. Imoen gazed at her intently, holding her other hand in both of hers.

"Yes. Wounding spells directly attack the life force of a living creature, causing spontaneous wounds almost as a side-effect."

"And…what do they feel like? Do they wait in your hand, too?"

"I believe that they do but I do not know for sure. Such spells are an abomination to nature and not fit for a druid to wield."

Mijandra began stroking her palm with her thumb. "Can primal energies be changed? Can death become life…or, or air?"

"No, I do not believe so. Clerics do something of that nature, transforming their magic into life or death according to their will, but I do not think it works as you suggest."

"So…where does your magic come from?"

"Silvanus. Every day when I pray to him he offers me a portion of his power – what little of it I can fathom – to put into the spells of my choosing."

"Choosing," Mijandra repeated.

"Yes," Jaheira replied, even though it was not a question.

Mijandra stopped looking at her hand. "Thank you, Jaheira. We will go to bed now. Imoen and I will share a room." Then she and Imoen got up and were out the door.

"Th-th-those were some s-strange questions," Khalid finally commented.

Jaheira snorted testily. "Understatement."

* * *

"Who do I pray to, Imoen?"

"What do you mean?" Imoen asked, concerned.

"Who do I pray to to choose my magic, Im?"

"Are you talking about what happened yesterday?"

"No. Yes. There's more, now. More of the…negative energy I used on the…the bandit's face. It's inside me. I can use it whenever I want."

"But...you don't want to, right?"

Mijandra shook her head. "No. But the path has chosen my magic for me," Mijandra said, bordering on angry.

"I don't think you can expect your…powers to work like regular spells, sis. I think we should tell Jaheira and see what she thinks."

"Maybe. I should still be able to choose," Mijandra said stubbornly.

"Well…maybe you need to choose another path."

"Hmm?"

"Well, all you've been doing is walking away from the path that's there, right? Maybe you need to actually choose another one."

Mijandra thought about it, and then she tried it. It only took a second to realize it wouldn't work. "There is no other path to choose."

"Then, um…maybe you can change the one that's there. Make it into the path you want." Imoen sighed. "I don't know, I have no idea what I'm talking about; neither of us do. We should tell Jaheira." Imoen's arms held her tighter. "I'm worried about you, sis."

"I know, Im," Mijandra said, stroking the back of Imoen's head. "Go to sleep, I'll be fine."

"Hmph. Bossy," Imoen said in mock annoyance before settling herself in the crook of Mijandra's shoulder and closing her eyes.

Mijandra closed her eyes as well, and, lying completely still on the bed, she turned to face the path. Change it, eh? Somehow, she felt as though that might work.

* * *

Birds chirped in the sunlight, beams penetrating the canopy of the surrounding forest. The lake itself was touched fully by the sun, giving it that perfect temperature just past noon. It was a lake she and Imoen knew well.

The path to it was a little different than Imoen would remember, though. Mijandra turned to look back the way she came, by a path through a forest that was once dark as pitch and silent as death, now green and alive.

It had worked. She had changed the path somehow, made it her own, and followed it without reservation. It was no longer so grandiose as it once claimed. It did not lead to riches, power, the fulfillment of her every desire. Life was to be the pursuit of such things, after all. No, the path lead to but one desire now, though she was not certain what it was, and doubted she was any closer to having it fulfilled.

Mijandra shook her head. Such nonsense. It was a lake. A lake she was very, **very** fond of, but a lake. She opened her eyes and returned to her room with Imoen.

The red ice no longer sang in her veins. It was gone. In its place was something else. Something pure, and silent, without will of any kind. Yet powerful, somehow, demanding her attention without demanding anything at all. Jaheira or Imoen might be able to tell her what it was, and in truth she did wonder, but instinctually she understood all that mattered; it was choice.

It took only a nudge. The moment she focused on it it bended to her will, almost before she knew what her will was. Then she felt a new song in her veins, much more pleasant than the previous, but more importantly much quieter. She wondered if the old song could have been quieted, too, if she had chosen it instead. But it did not really matter.

She drew on the power she had chosen, and suddenly her hand was humming with energy; warm and yet cool alternately. With her other hand she took Imoen's wrist and examined her fingers.

"Hm?" Imoen grunted, opening her eyes.

"Your finger. The one the assassin hit with his staff."

"Huh? Don't worry about it, it's no big deal. Doesn't even hurt- ow! Unless you go and squeeze it like that!" Imoen hissed, trying to pull her hand from Mijandra's grasp.

"Sorry," Mijandra apologized, but held on, wrapping the damaged finger with her energized hand. Then Imoen's eyes widened, and Mijandra knew her finger was no longer bothering her.

"H…how?"

"You were right, sis. I chose my own path." Mijandra realized she was smiling broadly from the mesmerized look in Imoen's eyes. "You were right," Mijandra repeated, and then she kissed her. A long kiss. One that for some reason had her wondering again what it was she wanted from the lake.


	9. Friends

**Chapter 9 - Friends**

_To My Dear Distinguished Colleagues:_

_I know not how but Veil has recently come into knowledge of the use and creation of lock picks. I have a fair guess, of course. This is, after all, the greatest library in all of Faerun, if not all of Toril, and text on the subject of lock picking surely resides somewhere within its walls. Veil regularly chooses to bypass the proper procedures for book acquisition, however (though she does always graciously return books to their proper place when done with them), so I cannot check the records to be sure. Oh well, it is of little matter._

_Ulraunt has been quick to reach all the worst conclusions regarding Veil's knew skills (as are a few of you, I'd dare guess), the old fool. Just as many have found honest work picking locks as those who have not. A great many number among my distinguished colleagues in fact; we would be hard pressed to continue our work without such people. As for Veil, she seems more interested in mastering the skill than actually getting at what's behind the locks she opens (with the notable exception of Winthrop's missing elven chocolates, I suspect). She is focused on the jail in the barracks, however. She stops by at least once a day every day to unlock and open the door. Another compulsion born from her life before Candlekeep, I fear._

_Now, if you will excuse me, I must now search Veil's room for an empty box of chocolates and administer appropriate discipline once it is found._

_Sincerely,_  
_Gorion_

* * *

Mijandra's fingers combed again through Imoen's hair, slowly, deliberately. Sounds of the louder morning preparations drifted to her ears from the inn's bottom floor, while birdsong could be heard clearly through the room's half open window. Her reverie had ended a few hours ago, but Mijandra was still quite content to lie there, Imoen asleep in her arms.

Mijandra's hand moved from Imoen's hair to trace the outside edge of her ear with a finger. The finger continued down to her chin, skipping up to move along her eyebrows, then down her nose, gently – reverently – so as not to wake her. Every curve, every shape, every line. Mijandra had memorized them all a hundred times over, yet never tired of refreshing her memory one more time.

A nagging itch began in the back of her mind, intruding on the perfection of the moment. She wished it could wait, but it had waited too long already. She'd never missed a day before, and she certainly couldn't miss two. Slowly, regretfully, she let go of Imoen and rose from the bed. Moving to the window, she made her first deliberate examination of the grounds of the Friendly Arm Inn.

Grey stone walls surrounded by a moat enclosed the area, the near-fortress that was the inn rising in the center. Other, smaller buildings of wood rested against the walls, a few shops and the guards' barracks, and the squat stone temple to Garl Glittergold. It reminded her of Candlekeep, though Candlekeep's stones were white. That struck her as backwards somehow; this place, a haven of peace and safety from the dangers of the road for all and everyone who came to its gates, seemed much more worthy of pure white stone than Candlekeep, if the morals of bard's tales were anything to go by.

In a far corner of the grounds, between two distant merchant stands currently vacant, she found what she was looking for. She'd have to take a closer look to be sure, but from where she was it seemed to be a fine tree indeed.

* * *

The bed was empty. As Imoen made the slow rise to consciousness this observation sped things up considerably. It was not too unusual for Mijandra to be out of bed before Imoen woke up, but it was still something Imoen never got used to. Pushing herself up on her arms, Imoen looked around the room.

The room was empty. That was a bit more unusual, and Imoen woke up completely. Quickly getting out of bed, she wasn't worried exactly. She just found Mijandra not being within eyeshot…uncomfortable. Especially after waking up under an unfamiliar ceiling.

As she began to dress to go look for her, she became aware of something of a commotion outside. Walking to the window, she looked out to find a decent crowd under a tree between two stands near the walls. Almost two dozen people were looking up into the tree, awed tones escaping all their mouths at once. Imoen followed their gaze and grinned. '_Of course.'_

Throwing on the rest of her clothes and almost jumping into her boots, Imoen rushed down the stairs, out the door, and to the edge of the crowd as fast as her sleepy legs would carry her. Shading her eyes with a hand, her grin widened as she craned her neck with the rest of the onlookers.

Near the top of the tree was Mijandra, doing a handstand on a branch just sturdy enough to support her weight without breaking, though not without rocking a fair bit. Even as it rocked Mijandra barely wavered, her legs remaining straight up and feet pointed even as she "walked" two feet down and then back up the branch, then down and back again. The crowd erupted in awe once again, a half-hearted call from a guard to get down mixed in and followed by an old woman demanding to know if Mijandra was crazy.

Imoen herself could only laugh. She'd seen this routine a hundred times before, as had everyone else in Candlekeep; Mijandra did it every day. But now she performed in front of a new crowd, and Imoen found their reaction infectious. Normally she couldn't help feeling jealous watching Mijandra's exercises. It never seemed fair, after all. She wanted to be the most agile and dexterous one, like she used to be, before Candlekeep.

Imoen's mind suddenly froze with fear. Then just as suddenly the fear vanished, leaving no memory of its presence. Imoen shook her head and laughed mentally. What a strange thought. There was no before Candlekeep. She'd always been there. Always.

Dismissing the thought, Imoen returned her concentration to Mijandra. She'd begun the "dancing" phase as Imoen called it, smoothly shifting her weight from one hand to the other, lifting the free hand from the branch for a second each time before swinging back down again. A light sheen of sweat was beginning to show on her face, and Imoen was reminded of how much better it was when Mijandra exercised in the summer. She wore a sleeveless shirt, then, the play of muscles along her arms and shoulders captivating Imoen beyond her understanding. She thought she could watch it for hours.

Today she was buried in one of Gorion's shirts, as usual. Seventeen years old and they still didn't come close to fitting her. She was coming close to the end of the exercise, now. The changes from hand to hand became less frequent, Mijandra holding herself up by one hand for several seconds at a time. Very dangerous if the crowd's tense silence was anything to go by.

"What in the **hells** do you think you're doing, child?!" was the sound of the silence's gruesome death. '_Jaheira can be loud,'_ Imoen thought crossly, followed by a blush as she turned to look at the irate woman approaching them. '_And she's pretty when she's mad.'_ If others in the crowd were thinking the same thing it didn't stop them from giving the woman a wide berth.

Imoen quickly looked back up the tree, and saw Jaheira's outburst hadn't disturbed Mijandra in the least, or even so much as gained her attention by appearances. She continued her exercise as if nothing had happened. Jaheira would probably not be satisfied with that in the least, so Imoen answered, "She's exercising."

"Exercising?! Upside-down thirty feet in the air? Does she want to get herself killed?"

Imoen's eyes never left Mijandra, watching her movements closely as she answered. "Aw, c'mon," she grinned, "she does this all the time."

Jaheira snorted. "All the more foolish!" she responded, now shouting up into the tree. "It is only a matter of time until her overconfidence proves to be just that!"

Imoen snorted back. "You worry to much," she said, her grin now threatening to devour her face. Slowly and with great conviction she declared, "She'll **never** fall."

The moment the words were out of her mouth Mijandra's hand slipped and she fell from the branch, tumbling through the air. Jaheira chocked on a half-gasp, half-scream, the rest of the crowd doing a good job of imitating her. Mijandra hit the ground a second later, feet first, in an almost soundless crouch. She straightened up shortly after and casually wiped her hands on her shirt, completely unharmed.

Imoen glanced over the stunned crowd and proceeded to laugh hysterically. This quickened Jaheira's recovery, allowing her to almost scream, "Just what is so funny about your sister nearly breaking her neck?!" Imoen only laughed louder. Catching Mijandra's eye as she reeled, she saw their shared amusement in the subtle grin on her face and laughed even more.

After several seconds and nearly as many angry demands for answers from Jaheira, Imoen finally gasped out, "She…did…that…on…purpose!"

"What?"

"She…does that every time," Imoen said as she leaned against Mijandra, slowly closing in on control of her laughter. "She always ends her exercises…like that."

Imoen erupted into laughter again at the look on Jaheira's face. "Are you **mad**?"

"Like you said," Mijandra finally spoke. "It's only a matter of time until strength or balance fail me. I practice falling, too."

"Of all the…" Jaheira closed her eyes and breathed deeply before continuing. "Alright, so there is some reason to your stupidity, child." At this she grabbed Mijandra's shoulder and began to hiss. "But I wonder if it's occurred to either of you that you just made a spectacle of yourselves when there's a price on your head!"

Imoen's good humor ended then, more than replaced by worry. If Mijandra felt the same she did not show it, merely staring at Jaheira for a few moments before rolling her shoulder to dislodge Jaheira's hand and quietly walking back to the inn. Jaheira remained behind, looking like she still wanted to shout some more. She found satisfaction with the milling crowd. "Be gone, all of you! There is nothing more to gawk at, here!" The crowd was quick to oblige.

Jaheira levied a final scowl at Imoen before turning to return to the inn. Before she could take more than a few steps Imoen spoke. "You called her child."

Jaheira faced Imoen with a glare. "And? She **was** a child. You both were!"

Imoen's face twitched briefly into a pout but she managed to stay focused. "That doesn't matter. If you want her to listen to you at all you shouldn't call her that. Or anything else but her name."

Jaheira rolled her eyes. "I'll not waste time with such childish foolishness—"

"It's not foolishness!" Imoen interrupted angrily, and Jaheira raised an eyebrow. "Mijandra's sensitive, alright?" Calming down, Imoen moved closer to Jaheira and continued in hushed tones, "She feels like if someone doesn't use her name it means they don't care about her, **especially** if they call her child. If you care about her, or if you want to care about her, don't do that. Only use her name."

"Ridiculous. She's better off being rid of such nonsense, I'll not coddle the child."

Imoen growled, finally snapping. "She was kept in a cage without a name for three years, IT'S NOT HER DAMN FAULT, and it's not coddling her to just call her by her FELDURKING name!!" her voice echoed across the yard - earning no small number of frowns from those nearby.

"W…what?" Jaheira asked just above a whisper.

Imoen scowled as she crossed her arms and repeated more quietly, "Mijandra was raised in a cage by Ogmha-knows-what-bastards until Gorion rescued her when she was three."

"He…he never told us this."

"He didn't tell you a lot," Imoen responded, fighting a pang of guilt at Jaheira's almost hurt look. "He told me, though. And so did Mijandra."

"Did he say who held her captive?"

"Slavers, but me and Mijandra both think that's bullocks, especially lately."

"Yes, I can see why you would. And I assume then that he has not told either of you who Mijandra's parents are?"

Imoen shook her head. "Nope. He knew, though. Would always tell Mijandra he would tell her when she was older." Imoen looked away, all her fire suddenly gone and replaced with melancholy. "So much for that, huh?"

Jaheira was silent a moment, considering. "Would Mijandra rather I did not know all this about her?" she finally asked.

Imoen turned back, drumming her fingers once against her arm before shaking her head. "No, Mijandra doesn't mind too much what people know about her, so long as she doesn't have to tell them herself."

"I see," Jaheira said quietly. "You are very protective of her. It does you credit."

Part of Imoen wanted to laugh. Part of her wanted to demand a better apology. Part of her just wanted to put all this moody crap behind her. Ultimately, only one could be the victor. "Well, I'm starvin'! Let's see what kind of breakfast this dump has to offer!"

* * *

"Needs salt," Imoen said as she swallowed a bite of Mijandra's eggs.

"I don't want salt," Mijandra responded.

"Yeah, you always say that," Imoen said, shaking her head. "But you know what? You're wrong. You do."

Mijandra moved her fork to her left hand, leaving her right free to defend her eggs from any attacks Imoen was likely to make with the saltshaker.

Mijandra and Imoen looked up as Jaheira cleared her throat loudly. "Now that I have your attention, it is as good a time as any to discuss our plans. As I said last night, Khalid and I are investigating the iron crisis. We have an arrangement with the mayor of Nashkel to enter the mines and find the cause of their problems there; and put an end to them if at all possible."

"Hah! That's quite a coincidence," Imoen said around a mouthful of pancakes. Flinching reflexively from a few grains of salt flying into her face from a narrow deflection by Mijandra, she neglected to elaborate.

"Why is that?" Jaheira asked stiffly.

"We met two others on the road with the same goal. A human mage and a halfling sneak named Xzar and Montaron. Mean guys, though. I think they were Zhentarim."

"Zhentarim?" Jaheira and Khalid started at the same time.

"Yeah. We had an encounter with some iron bandits. These two showed up in the nick of time to save our butts, and then the mage went around spelling all the dead bodies to answer questions. They kept saying they worked for the Zhentarim, and the mage just wouldn't believe it. Then they both disappeared real fast when we said we were meeting up with Harpers. Putting it all together…" Imoen finished with a shrug before taking another oversized bite of pancakes, followed by another failed attempt to salt Mijandra's eggs.

Jaheira grabbed the saltshaker from Imoen's hand before responding. "Interesting. Perhaps we shall run into them ourselves."

Imoen shivered slightly. "I hope not. If I never see them again it'll be too soon."

Jaheira raised an eyebrow. "So you will be coming with us then? That is what I mean to find out."

Imoen opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again and turned to Mijandra.

Mijandra was looking directly at Jaheira, stopping to swallow her food before speaking. "We shouldn't make a spectacle of ourselves, right? Investigating a crisis would not be laying low."

Jaheira picked at her own food a moment before answering. "That is true. But the life of thief would not hide you very well, either. In fact, I imagine it would only bring you closer to the scum who hunt you, and without trustworthy friends to watch your back."

Mijandra froze with her spoon in her mouth, Imoen with the saltshaker poised near Mijandra's plate. Jaheira frowned, glancing down to where she had left the saltshaker on her side of the table. Of course, it was no longer there. "Case in point," Jaheira said as she looked back up frowning. "Not to mention calling yourselves master thieves evening last. Your intended profession is hardly a secret."

"W-w-we owe Gorion m-much," Khalid interjected. "And h-he was a g-good friend. Kn-know that if you c-come with us you will h-have t-two comp-p-panions willing to lay down their lives f-for you."

"My husband speaks true," Jaheira added, "though they will also be two very skilled companions not likely to have to lay down their lives any time soon."

Mijandra turned to Imoen, the glance all that was needed to convey the question.

"I want to go with them," Imoen answered. "Those bandits…those bandits were evil, terrible men. And there's more of them out there, lots more. Someone has to put a stop to it all."

"Does it have to be you?" Mijandra asked.

"No," Imoen answered, "but I want to." She grinned. "You know me, Imoen the Humble. I wanna do good things. Great things."

"Even if it means killing people?"

Imoen looked down, focusing intently on her pancakes and giving them a few pokes with her fork before answering, "If they're bad people. I can get used to that."

Mijandra breathed deeply as her gaze returned to Jaheira. "I won't find the strength to avenge my father living as a thief. And trustworthy f…friends watching our back will be a great help. We will go with you."

"I am g-glad to h-hear it," Khalid beamed. "T-t-truth be told I b-believe your skills w-will be of g-g-great help t-to us asw-w-well. C-certainly if w-what I hear of y-your p-performance in the t-t-tree is t-true."

"Khalid, we should not be encouraging such behavior," Jaheira spoke flatly.

"Y-y-yes, dear," Khalid responded.

With that everyone's attention returned to their food. Or someone's food, anyway, as Imoen once again tried to sneak the saltshaker over Mijandra's eggs. Mijandra responded with a swift disarming followed by a counter-attack on Imoen's pancakes. Imoen darted her right hand under the shaker just in time, her left hand taking its place as she went back on the offensive, releasing the salt in her right hand over Mijandra's plate. Mijandra slid her plate away at the last second and Imoen watched as the salt hit the table. "Buttons and barn doors!" she exclaimed loudly in frustration.

Khalid quickly quelled his laughter at the sight of Jaheira's glare. "S-sorry, dear."


	10. Alianna

**Chapter 10 - Alianna**

_To My Dear Distinguished Colleagues:_

_My visits to the laundry rooms have become more frequent as of late. It seems Veil has rejected her clothing in favor of my own. Or my shirts, at any rate. While it is, as you can no doubt imagine, quite adorable seeing her run about in sleeves almost twice as long as her arms and her knees just barely poking out of the bottom of a shirt, it is also proving to be a considerable inconvenience. Fortunately, she's told me she doesn't require that the shirt be stolen from my dresser before she will wear it, so donating all my current shirts to her wardrobe once I've ordered replacements for myself should disarm the situation._

_Should there be any complaints regarding the frivolity of this letter, let me once again remind you that it is not I who insists on monthly correspondence. Candlekeep really is a bit of a dull place, and earth-shaking events are actually quite uncommon here._

_Sincerely,_ _Gorion_

* * *

"Why did I call them friends?" Mijandra asked suddenly.

"W-wha?" Imoen stammered as she struggled to block Mijandra's attack, another sharp bark of wood striking wood sounding through their camp.

"Jaheira and Khalid. I called them friends." Her make-shift practice sword – a two foot pole of wood cut from a quarterstaff they bought at the Friendly Arm – smoothly pushed Imoen's thrust aside before making a counter attack.

"Ah!" Imoen shouted as she dodged. "Wish-I-could-talk-now-Mijandra," Imoen rushed out, followed by another yelp and narrow miss. "If-you-wanna-stop…"

Mijandra frowned. As usual she and Imoen started their practice slowly, Mijandra quickening the pace until she reached Imoen's limit. And as usual that limit did not take nearly long enough to reach in Mijandra's opinion. For the past year Imoen had hardly shown any improvement at all.

"Ow!" Imoen grunted as Mijandra's pole thudded into her shoulder. "Hey! You did that on purpose!"

Mijandra blinked slowly. "Of course I did."

"Y-you're not supposed to hit me!" Imoen shouted, her pole at her side tightly clenched in her hand.

"I'm supposed to protect you."

"W-what?! Since when has protecting me meant giving me bruises?!"

"It's better than what you'd get in a real fight. Raise your guard."

"No! OW!!" Mijandra struck without waiting for Imoen's compliance. "What the hell are you doing?!" she said as she finally brought her guard up to deflect the next attack. But Mijandra was no longer holding back at Imoen's limit, and Imoen quickly received a sharp blow to the wrist, then another to her side. "Dammit, Mijandra, knock it off!"

"Ahem." They both turned to see Khalid walking towards them. "P-perhaps I could have a t-turn, Imoen?"

* * *

Khalid had started watching early enough to realize what Mijandra was trying to do. And to realize that it didn't seem to be working. Imoen turned a scowl on Mijandra. "Fine by me," she said as she handed her pole to Khalid. Mijandra said nothing, and Khalid couldn't tell if she was upset with the interruption or not. She simply readied her guard as Khalid stepped forward.

It was not long before Khalid verified Mijandra's limit went much higher than she had gone when fighting Imoen. He also verified the weaknesses he thought he saw in her defenses were really there. Mijandra grunted as Khalid rapped her on the knee.

"Hah!" Imoen called spitefully from the tree she leaned against as she rubbed her sore wrist.

Mijandra and Khalid separated and then started the fight anew. Khalid quickly made another attack on Mijandra's knee, and Mijandra blocked easily. The sound of their staffs colliding increased in pitch as the fight continued, and Khalid eventually made a glancing blow to Mijandra's shoulder, followed by another strike at her knee. Once again she blocked, and Khalid narrowly defended against her counter attack. "You learn quickly," he said, smiling. Mijandra still said nothing, neither appreciative or offended that Khalid could see.

Their practice continued a few minutes more, Mijandra receiving a handful more grazings and two or three bruises before Khalid decided Imoen's smile had gotten smug enough. "I think that's enough f-for now, Mijandra. Imoen, p-perhaps you'd like to practice with me?"

Imoen's smile disappeared. "No! Uh…no, that's okay."

"You're s-sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I've had all the practice I need, today."

"Well, ok-kay then," Khalid said, smiling warmly. The sisters would be ready to make peace, now, he hoped. Khalid walked back to the fire to leave them to it.

* * *

Mijandra placed her hand on Imoen's cheek. Imoen was about to move away when she felt a familiar tingling warmth seep through her and wash the pains of their practice away. "I love you, sis," Mijandra said, not moving her hand.

Imoen felt her anger fading away, which for a few seconds made her even angrier. Imoen sighed as that too faded and she leaned into her sister, Mijandra's arms wrapping around her. She was such a sucker. "You need to fight better, Im," Mijandra said into her ear.

Imoen didn't respond. She wasn't angry anymore, but that didn't mean she was about to agree to anything Mijandra said. Not that she really disagreed, though. Her swordsmanship definitely wasn't up to the challenges ahead. She just wasn't going to **say** that.

"We'll train again tomorrow?" Mijandra asked.

"Sure," Imoen finally said.

Their armor creaked as they separated. Mijandra wore her own armor once again, Jaheira having bought Imoen a set of well-fitting leather, much better than anything the bandits had. The armor Mijandra had taken from the bandit leader was thrown into one of the handful of rubbish bins scattered about the inn grounds.

Imoen blinked at that reminder. "Hey, Mijandra," she began as she sat at the base of the tree she'd been leaning on. "What was it like…the first time you had…to kill?"

"You mean Koga?" Mijandra asked as she lay down in the grass at Imoen's feet.

"Yeah." Koga was a small-time thief and adventurer who showed up at Candlekeep two years ago after stumbling upon an ancient library in Myth Drannor. He put the handful of books he'd grabbed at random up for auction, and the Keeper of the Tomes' offer of access to Candlekeep in addition to a handsome some of gold caught Koga's attention. Once there he took an immediate liking to Mijandra and Imoen, and spent all of his nine days teaching them things they couldn't learn from a book about thievery.

"Disappointing," Mijandra answered after a moment.

"Disappointing?"

"Yes. Disappointing that he was…who he was, and I had to kill him. That people like him exist." On the ninth day it turned out his affection for Mijandra was far from innocent. He had a fondness for young girls and elves, and Mijandra was both. He tried to force himself on her, threatening Imoen if she did not comply. A bad move on his part. "The world looked uglier after that. I wanted to cry."

"Did you?"

"No."

Imoen leaned her head back and looked into the boughs of the tree. "Did you feel bad at all? Just for having killed a person?"

"I didn't just kill a person. I killed Koga." Mijandra sat up and waited until she caught Imoen's eye. "And you killed bandits. There's nothing to feel bad about."

"They might have had family. People who care about them."

"They should have thought of that before they gave up their lives. It's on **their** heads, not yours." Mijandra put a hand on Imoen's knee. "Are you sure you want to do this, Im?"

Imoen sighed. "Yeah, I'm sure. I've already told myself pretty much the same stuff you did. I'll get over it."

"But do you really want to get over it?"

Imoen paused, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Yes," she said, and it sounded more like she were making a decision than merely answering a question.

* * *

A wolf strode up to the fire opposite Khalid, carrying a pheasant in its jaws. It dropped the bird as it sat down, and was soon covered in a dim green glow. Khalid brushed a hand in front of his face to hide his smile at the sight of Jaheira sitting before the fire, knees up and hands on the ground in front of her, a much more amusing position now that she was back in her natural half-elven form. She gave him a look to let him know she was not fooled before moving into a more human posture.

"So," she began as she set to work preparing the pheasant for dinner. "Been taking a stick to Gorion's beloved ward, have you?" she asked, smiling lightly.

Khalid looked down at the shaft of wood he was still holding, and gave a quiet laugh. "You w-were watching, then?"

"I was around." She crushed a few herbs and leaves into the pot over the fire. "What did you think?"

"She fights v-very well for her age and b-background. A n-natural warrior."

"And that worries you."

"Aye, s-some," he answered, though it was not a question. "I have s-seen what happens when s-skill grows f-faster than wisdom."

Jaheira nodded solemnly, "So have I." She sighed. "And it is left to us to guide her." Shaking her head, she asked, "What of the other one, the thief?"

"They are b-both thieves, Jaheira," Khalid smiled.

She gave him a sharp look and his smile turned sheepish. "What of Imoen, then?" she asked.

"Sh-she has some potential from what I saw, but I d-doubt her strength will ever lie in the s-sword. She did hold her b-bow well w-when we first saw her."

Jaheira snorted at the memory. "She seems to know much of magic," she said thoughtfully.

"I-I'll have to take y-your word on that," Khalid grinned, and Jaheira returned the smile.

She continued to prepare the meal in silence for a time until she noticed Khalid gazing at her intently. She blinked at him. "What is it?"

"Oh, I-I'm sorry, it is j-just your hair looks very p-pretty in this light," he said, not looking very apologetic.

Jaheira threw a blonde tress over her shoulder and grunted dismissively. "It smells terrible. The slime that the Friendly Arm called shampoo was **not** natural," she grumbled, regretting running out of her usual herbal mix that didn't smell like seventy different flowers all at once. Still, try as she might, she couldn't completely remove the smile from her face at Khalid's compliment.

"What's cookin'? Smells good," Imoen commented as she and Mijandra appeared next to the fire. Khalid moved closer to her to make room for them.

"Just a simple pheasant stew, nothing to get excited about," Jaheira reported.

"Sounds better than anything we could make," Imoen replied.

Jaheira stopped stirring the pot and turned to the two of them. "I understand you two have received some bruises from your practice," she said, faintly disapproving. "The sun will be setting and I must pray soon, so if you would like me to heal you, you had best ask now."

"Oh, Mijandra already healed…gave me a potion." To be fair, Imoen managed to sound very convincing with her cover up, but it was still clearly a cover up.

"You are fortunate I do not believe you, for potions are far too valuable to waist on bruises," Jaheira said smoothly, but with her eyes hard. "Now, kindly explain yourself."

"Whadya mean, ya don't believe me?" Imoen began, but was interrupted by Mijandra.

"You can tell her, Im. It's not bad anymore."

Jaheira raised an eyebrow. "Tell me what?"

* * *

"I see," she said after Imoen finished. "That explains your questions last night," she turned to Mijandra. "Now, if you could explain why you didn't tell me this before," she began heatedly.

"I didn't want to," Mijandra responded. Jaheira gritted her teeth. She didn't sound sullen or evasive, but Jaheira wanted more of an answer than that.

"And why not?"

"I didn't know you," she answered quietly. "And I didn't like…it. Now it's better." She studied Jaheira a moment, and when Jaheira didn't ask any more questions – nevermind that she looked ready to bite the head off an orc – she asked one of her own. "Do you know what happened to me?"

As she realized that was the more urgent question Jaheira calmed down. "No," she shook her head. "There are many fell powers wielded by mortals throughout the realms, but rarely are they obtained unintentionally, or without consent. That you felt his eyes awaken something within you… Perhaps your power is inherited, through an otherworldly ancestor or…," Jaheira froze. '_Or even from a divine source.'_ "Or something like that," she said aloud. "Excuse me, I must begin my prayers. Khalid, if you would watch the stew?"

"Y-yes, dear," she heard him say as she got up and almost ran to a grouping of three trees nearby; the densest foliage in the area. As she ran a traitorous part of her mind told her that Imoen was much more convincing at covering up than she was.

* * *

Khalid followed after his wife an hour later, reaching her just as she was getting up and returning her symbol of Silvanus to its pocket just over her heart. She turned and stared at him blankly for what felt like several seconds.

"U-um," Khalid stammered, searching for something to say. "M-Mijandra tried t-to heal herself after you l-left. She was unsuccessf-ful, b-but said she could f-feel the power w-would rep-plenish itself by m-morning."

"I see," Jaheira nodded.

"Did…d-did your prayers p-provide you any answers?" Khalid asked.

Jaheira sighed. "No, but I did not expect them to. They did bring me calm, however."

"A-and what had you so uns-settled, dear?" he asked as he came closer, tentatively putting a hand on her arm. "Do you kn-know what's happening to M-Mijandra?"

Jaheira put both her hands on Khalid's waist and looked down. "I might." She raised her head again and looked into his eyes. "Tell me, Khalid, why did Gorion adopt Mijandra?"

Khalid shook his head. "I-I don't know. He t-told us sh-she was Alianna's daughter."

"Yes, but who was the father?" Khalid could not answer, and Jaheira continued. "Have you noticed how many of the Harpers have been preoccupied with Alaundo's prophecies of late? One of them in particular?"

Khalid frowned in concentration. "I r-remember the one G-Gorion was…" Khalid's eyes widened. "You d-don't think…?"

"It is too early to jump to conclusions, but you agree it is a strong possibility."

"Y…yes, it…i-it c-could b-be," Khalid said quietly. His eyes were slightly panicked as they focused on his wife. "W-w-w-what do we do, Jaheira?"

"Exactly what we promised Gorion we would do. We watch over his daughter, and keep her safe."

* * *

Against her Imoen let out a small snore, ending in a snort and a slight wriggling of her nose before returning to the slow, quiet breathing of sleep. She had told her what otherworldly meant. Angels, demons, and devils and the like. Of those Mijandra was pretty sure she could rule out angels.

Most of what she heard eavesdropping on Jaheira and Khalid made little sense to her, but she retained as much as she could to tell Imoen later. Later, because there was one thing she did manage to understand, and it was currently dominating her thoughts beyond reason.

Her mother's name was Alianna.


	11. Beregost

**Chapter 11 – Beregost**

_To My Dear Distinguished Colleagues:_

_Revelations come when you least expect them. But first we need some context._

_Last third-day was Veil and I's regular picnic day. Veil had recently been reading of the elves' powers of manifestation, and spent much of this foray into the wilderness surrounding Candlekeep practicing the ability herself. This practice consisted of her closing her eyes and concentrating, and then asking me if she got any scarier. I'm afraid I hadn't the heart to tell her otherwise._

_Fortunately I managed to convince her to stop her practice for the brief inconvenience of lunch. Very fortunately, for as the meal came to an end she suddenly began to tell me what she could remember of her life before Candlekeep. Abridging the conversation that followed to spare you from reading my many sputtered utterances of confusion and shock, the entirety of her words on the matter follow: "It was cold in the cage. And I did not have a name." Two sentences that say more than I fear I am ever likely to know._

_She did answer a few yes or no questions, as well, from which I verified my suspicion the Children were never physically harmed, objects of worship that they were. I believe they were regularly subjected to enchantments to keep them under control, however, which may have been no less damaging than physical abuse would have been._

_I must confess that these matters put me in a foul mood, and to write any further would be to subject you to the vengeful mutterings of an addled old man. So I shall stop now, and leave you to your own feelings on the matter, whatever they may be._

_Sincerely,_  
_Gorion_

* * *

Another moon had risen before the shuffle of dirt became the clomp of paving stones as the party's feet closed in on the town of Beregost. "It's bigger than I remember," Imoen said with a hint of awe.

"It has grown some," Jaheira said in a tone suggesting it did not please her in the slightest. "It is less than an hour's walk to the southern side and return to wilderness. We can camp then."

"Huh? Why camp just outside a town? A town with inns? That we can easily afford?" Imoen asked in rapid succession.

Jaheira's face settled in what almost looked like a pout. "I stayed in the Friendly Arm because it was a useful meeting place. I have no more need to endure such…artificial surroundings."

"Fine, then you go sleep in the woods and we'll meet up again in the morning," Imoen countered.

"I'm not letting either of you out of my sight, child," Jaheira began.

"Her name is Imoen," Mijandra interrupted. Jaheira sighed.

Imoen took Mijandra's hand as she said, "If you want to keep an eye on us you'll just have to follow us as we go to an inn. Right Mijandra?"

Mijandra rather liked camping, actually. Imoen would probably call it an "elf thing". But she also rather disliked upsetting Imoen. "Right," she answered.

Imoen gave a triumphant nod. "How about you, Khalid? You wanna sleep out in the woods, too?"

"W-w-what? I-I-I…w-what?" Khalid sputtered, completely confused. This was an occurrence they had become quite familiar with over the course of the day. Imoen laughed at first. Now it just seemed to worry her.

Mijandra could sympathize. It was staring at her that seemed to have him so distracted. It would often take several seconds for him to look away after being discovered. '_Why does he look…afraid of me?'_

"Nevermind," Imoen sighed, pulling on Mijandra's hand. "I think the Red Sheaf Inn is this way. That's where me and Puffguts stayed when he took me here once." After a few seconds Imoen whispered in Mijandra's ear, "Are they following us?"

"Yes," Mijandra answered, hearing Imoen give a breath of relief. "They're keeping a distance and Jaheira is grumbling."

Imoen giggled softly. After a few minutes of walking she said, "There it is, up ahead."

It was a red-roofed building with stairs leading up to a second story entrance. When Mijandra and Imoen reached the top the sound of Khalid and Jaheira climbing after them began. Mijandra opened the door and quickly stepped inside. "Hey, ladies first!" Imoen complained behind her.

Mijandra turned around and quirked an eyebrow at her. A second later they shared a grin. "I have to go first to make sure it's safe for you, my lady," Mijandra said before taking Imoen's hand and continuing inside.

After a small laugh she replied, "Of course, you are right, my lord. Please, I beg you, forgive me for questioning you." A small foyer preceded the doorway into the inn's common room.

Mijandra turned around after they passed through, pulling off the hood of her black cloak. The common room wasn't what most people would call busy, but it was still noisier than Mijandra would have liked. "You are forgiven, my lady," Mijandra said, taking Imoen into her arms. She wasn't really very good at these games of pretend, but they always made Imoen's eyes shine.

Just like they did right now. "I'm so glad, my lord."

"You're at the end of your rope, I'll wager," a male voice said after his footsteps came to a stop behind her, chainmail links jingling for a second more. Mijandra spun around, sword and dagger drawn, and was surprised to see a dwarf. He continued in perfect, unaccented Chondathan, "Yup. Young elf, ribbon, bluey skin. Not that it's anything personal, you understand, but I'm afraid your time on this here ball of mud is just about done." He pulled his shield off his back with one hand and an axe from his belt with the other. The common room quickly began to empty.

It hadn't been a minute since she removed her hood – bought at Jaheira's urging to hide her identity – and an assassin had already spotted her. Though whether this was Bashaba's will or Tymora's was yet to be seen. If she could get some answers… "Who put a bounty on me? Why?" she demanded coolly, adjusting her stance to face a shorter opponent. She immediately felt unbalanced, not having practiced such a thing often.

"Don't matter one whit to me. A price is a price and a head is a head, and whenever the two meet, there's old Karlat makin' his living. Like I said, it's nothing personal." He punctuated his words with a lazy swing of his axe, and Mijandra spotted her first advantage as she evaded it: he was overconfident.

She circled around the dwarf to the right, hearing Imoen move with her while knocking an arrow to her bow. After moving ninety degrees she quickly darted her eyes towards the exit to the foyer. The dwarf attacked, but Mijandra was ready, again dodging his axe before making an attack of her own. His shield blocked her sword and her dagger struck at a poor angle, failing to penetrate his armor. She accomplished what she meant to, however. She saw Jaheira and Khalid were stuck in the doorway, fighting through the rush of people trying to leave.

The dwarf seemed to have quelled his confidence, considering her more carefully. He still didn't know their true numbers and positions, however, and Mijandra hoped it would stay that way until it was too late. An arrow thunked into his shield as Imoen took a shot before jumping back behind Mijandra. "So I have to kill both of you, do I? Shouldn't be too much-" With a shout of surprise he turned towards the foyer just in time to put his shield in front of another arrow.

"Damnit," he cursed as Khalid set down his bow and drew his sword and shield before stepping into the fight, leaving Jaheira behind him chanting a spell. The dwarf shifted most of his attention to the veteran half-elf warrior approaching him, a choice Mijandra intended to take full advantage of. The dwarf still kept an eye on her, though, moving often to keep her from getting behind his defenses as he and Khalid traded blows.

A sudden flash of red and a wave of heat made Mijandra pause briefly, and over the dwarf's head and Khalid's shoulder she saw Jaheira's hands lower with the end of her casting. What her spell did Mijandra was not certain, though she noticed the dwarf was sweating profusely now.

Another flash of red, this time brighter, came from another direction. The shining red orb darted over Mijandra's shoulder and slammed into the dwarf's chest in a swirling burst of energy. He grunted with surprise and looked around frantically, trying to find the mystery wizard, unaware that it was no doubt Imoen, standing behind Mijandra with a wand of missiles held between her nimble fingers. Seeing her opening Mijandra quickly thrust at his unprotected flank with all the might her haste allowed her.

Her dagger did little more than bend a few links, but her sword tore through chain and cloth to bite three inches into his flesh before he twisted away with a scream. Facing the two warriors, his eyes darted from her to Khalid as wisps of smoke began rising from his body. Making a decision, he turned and ran for the exit, only to stop three feet in front of Jaheira, who was standing ready with a sturdy wooden shield and stone-headed club to bar his path.

Khalid approached slowly, stopping a few feet away but keeping his stance ready. Mijandra followed his example, waiting for the dwarf's surrender. For the moment, however, he only breathed heavily as more smoke rose from his body and around the head of his axe. His axe and chainmail turned a soft red under the billowing smoke as he fell to the ground, groaning like a man who wouldn't let himself scream.

"What's happening?" Imoen asked.

"I have provided him a lesson in the folly of encasing oneself in metal," Jaheira answered, and Khalid nervously tugged at his cloak as if he wanted to hide his own suit of chainmail.

"Your spell is doing that?" Imoen asked.

Jaheira nodded. "All the metal he carries will be searing hot for the next several seconds."

The dwarf continued to groan for those several seconds, pounding at the floor several times in pain, and Imoen watched with obvious sympathy. Finally the smoke rising from him dwindled and he fell silent. "Eighteen seconds," Mijandra reported, and received a quizzical eyebrow from Jaheira in response.

Slowly the dwarf picked himself up, his beard blackened where it had touched his armor. "Lay down your weapon and surrender," Jaheira demanded. For a few seconds it seemed as though he might comply, but then with a sudden yell he charged. Jaheira blocked, and Imoen immediately launched another missile from her wand while Khalid and Mijandra closed in. Jaheira's club dealt the final blow, and the assassin's misshapen head bounced once against the hardwood floor as he fell.

* * *

"Same handwriting, same words, same reward." Jaheira sighed, resting her forehead in her palm as her other hand dropped the bounty notice onto the table.

"Good think it didn't burn up from your spell, I guess," Imoen said.

"Yes, it is." _Speaking of which…'_ "Speaking of which, where did you get that wand?"

"What, this?" Imoen asked, drawing the wand in question, a thin rod of ashwood capped with a pink colored glass gem. Her usual grin was in place, though slightly subdued under the circumstances. "It's from Candlekeep. I've had it for months."

Jaheira noted Imoen still did not say it was hers, but it was just as well, as Jaheira would not have believed her if she had. At any rate, other things were more important. "How did you manage to use it?"

"Y-y-yes, Gorion said y-your m-m-magic lessons had p-proven…unf-fruitful," Khalid said, voicing his own curiosity on the matter.

"Hmph. I can teach myself magic," Imoen insisted. "Better than old mage Soggybrains, that's for sure. Couldn't teach a horse to stand on four legs…," she continued, grumbling.

"So you have become a mage by yourself, then?" Jaheira asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, no…not yet," Imoen murmured.

"Then how did you activate the wand?"

She shrugged. "I just…faked it." Her grin returning at the bemused look Jaheira had no doubt was on her face, Imoen continued. "Tricked it. Charmed it. Found it's ticklish spot. It's kinda like charades, only the wand…"

Jaheira was about to interrupt, but Mijandra beat her to it. "Don't ask her to explain any more. It will just get more confusing." From Imoen's laughter Jaheira guessed Mijandra spoke from experience.

"Very well," Jaheira acquiesced. She recalled now that quite a few Harper infiltrators carried and made use of magic wands and the like without having any real magic ability of their own. It was quite common, if still beyond the understanding of most. Nothing to be concerned about. "There is the matter of why you chose now to use it, though."

"Well, that's simple. I might have accidentally hit Mijy or Khalid with an arrow, but magic missiles never miss."

"That…is good thinking," Jaheira conceded at the same time Mijandra said, "Don't call me Mijy."

"Well, of course! All my thinking is good. I'm going to me a brilliant wizard, remember?" Imoen's grin was broken by a sudden yawn. "Whoo. I'm gettin' a little sleepy." Before Jaheira could say anything Mijandra picked Imoen up bridal-style and walked toward the innkeeper's desk. "Mijandra!" Imoen tried to sound cross, but the cackling laughter made it difficult.

"I will get us a room, my lady," Mijandra said, and Jaheira felt her eyebrows lift in surprise. '_She's like an entirely different person with her sister.'_ The thought was almost melancholy, but then she turned to her husband and nearly barked a laugh, her hand covering her mouth just in time to muffle it. He was clearly noticing Mijandra's apparent dual personality, as well, and it looked like his eyes might roll out of his head.

He turned his head to return her gaze, a nervous smile rising at the sight of her amusement. "W-w-what is funny, d-dear?"

"Nothing, my love," she answered simply, her hand moving to rest on his before turning back to their two wards. '_Entirely different,'_ she thought with a smile. '_I can relate.'_

"Im, can you get a silver out of my purse?" Mijandra asked, still carrying Imoen as she arranged a room with the nervous innkeeper. He had recently seen them kill a man, after all, even if it was in self-defense.

"Sheesh, what am I, a slave?" Imoen answered with false irritation before presenting the requested silver piece to the innkeeper. He took it and handed them a key, nodding and smiling as they walked away, pleased to be finished with that bit of business.

As Mijandra carried Imoen up the stairs the last words Khalid and Jaheira heard were, "Now can you put the other two silvers you took back in my purse?"

The last sound they heard was more of Imoen's cackling.

* * *

"Why are we leaving already?" Imoen pouted. "I haven't been here in years, I want to look around some, first."

"We have been in this…city quite long enough as it is," Jaheira responded.

Imoen was about to continue the argument when a fair if slightly nasally voice called out to them. "Hail, adventurers!" They all turned to see a young man in once-fine clothes approaching them from the west, shockingly clean teeth gleaming in the sunlight along with his surprisingly well-kept hair. As he came closer his eyes lingered on Mijandra and Imoen, growing some in appreciation. "And good morning…fair ladies," he continued nervously with a bow. Despite the impression he might have wanted to make it was clear he was a bit down on his luck. In fact his clothes looked a bit dirty and slept-in, and the only thing he carried of any real value was the mandolin on his back.

Before Imoen or Mijandra – but most likely Imoen – could respond, Jaheira said testily, "We're certainly not lingering so you can flirt with handsome village boys!"

The boy blushed slightly at Jaheira's words, but they gave Imoen pause. He did seem to be trying to flirt, but as much as she'd longed for such experiences with boys her own age back in the cloistered confines of Candlekeep – whose male population consisted almost entirely of stuffy old monks – she didn't feel herself very affected by it. Oh, it was kind of flattering, she supposed, but... "Is he really handsome?" she asked, her head turned slightly towards Jaheira. Meanwhile, many would have found the wounded look on the boy's face quite comical.

A clearly confused, "What?" was all Jaheira could answer, but Imoen's attention shifted back to the boy as he focused his flirtation on Mijandra. "My name is Garrick, my lady," he began, and took her hand with what looked like the ridiculous intention of kissing it. Mijandra withdrew her hand almost immediately, however, and with considerable irritation Imoen took the hand in hers and gave Garrick a scathing glare.

The glare lightened some as Garrick shrunk away, his body and spirit sagged, his young face again looking almost comically depressed. He made Imoen think of a big lost puppy, and she couldn't help feeling sorry for him. "Hey, you called us adventurers. Did you need us for somethin'?" she offered, though with Mijandra's hand still firmly clasped in her own to make sure he didn't get any more ideas.

"Ah, yes!" he brightened. "I have a pretty proposal for you. I can see that you're an excellent group of warriors. How would you like a well-paying job as bodyguards for my mistress?"

"Bodyguards? For what reason does your mistress need bodyguards?" Jaheira stepped in, taking control of the conversation.

"Well, my mistress is Silke Rosena," Garrick began. "She's the most skilled musician and actor along the Sword Coast; in fact, she's to play at the Duchal palace before the month's done." His envious tone changed to one of secrecy. "But... she's been having some problems of late. Some thugs have been hired by Feldepost to hurt her bad, because she didn't perform at his inn when she was supposed to." He shook his head and shrugged. "You can't blame her for not showing up, what with a villain like Feldepost running the place."

Imoen frowned, though it was Mijandra who said, "Feldepost's Inn isn't run by Feldepost."

"Yeah," Imoen continued, "it's just called that." It was common enough knowledge, especially since Feldepost's was the largest inn in the western heartlands outside Baldur's Gate or the Friendly Arm. "And I've never heard that whoever runs the place is a villain."

Garrick looked a bit lost again. "Well, that is what my mistress told me. She's not from around here, and neither am I actually, so perhaps she just got some names confused. Nonetheless, she desires mercenaries to protect her until she's ready to go to Baldur's Gate, and she's willing to pay thirty gold. What do you say?"

"Th-that is a cons-siderable fee," Khalid said with some disbelief, turning to Jaheira.

"It is at that," she agreed. "And a very suspicious set of circumstances all around. We are leaving town today, however; right now, in fact. Unless your mistress can be ready to go quickly we must decline."

Garrick's eyes brightened. "Oh, she is quite ready to leave now, and has only been waiting for a suitable escort."

"And how far would she require this escort? Our destination is Nashkel, and diverting all the way to Baldur's Gate for any sum of gold would be completely out of the question."

"Would be nice to see Baldur's Gate, though," Imoen said to herself wistfully.

"No, my mistress assured me she would only need protection until she left Beregost. Feldepost's thugs are just a few local boys who probably won't follow her past the outskirts of town."

"Probably?" Imoen asked uncertainly.

"Indeed," Jaheira agreed. "I would suggest she hire more permanent protection if she is truly worried, but it is her business if she wishes to take chances with her well-being and I will not turn down such easy coin."

"Then you accept? Wonderful!" Garrick looked as if he might burst with happiness. "If you will just follow me to the Red Sheaf Inn. Why, did you know there was a battle there last night?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

Imoen smirked briefly before asking, wide-eyed, "There was?"

"Oh, yes. And I was there, too. A party of elves shared cross words with a party of dwarves, and it erupted into a veritable bloodbath! I'd never seen such carnage…"

* * *

Silke was a woman approaching middle age, platinum blonde hair in a long braid down to her waist. Mijandra had thought her quite beautiful at first, but that changed almost as soon as they made eye contact – notably brief. Silke didn't see people. She saw only tools and obstacles.

"Well then, I assume that Garrick has explained what your duties are," her voice rang after very short introductions, every word sounding like music. "You must simply dispose of the ruffians when they come to threaten me."

"Dispose?" Imoen said uneasily, and Jaheira arched an eyebrow.

"Are you so certain we will encounter them?"

"Yes, I am afraid it is inevitable," Silke said sadly.

"Hmm," Jaheira intoned neutrally. "Well, I doubt 'disposing' of them will be necessary. Mere ruffians as you called them would be rightly hesitant to engage armed bodyguards."

"No," Silke responded, shaking her head. "While they shouldn't be too hard to deal with, I must advise you to strike fast and don't hold back. Whatever you do…" After an ominous pause, index finger pointed upward as if to test the dramatic tension she was creating, she continued, "Don't speak with them. One of them is a mage whose mystic words can sway even the wisest of men."

Imoen frowned beside Mijandra. "That's not how magic works," she said.

Silke scowled. "What would you know, child?" Mijandra's eyes narrowed, but Imoen could fight her own battles. Or so Imoen would be telling her for the next several days if she interrupted now.

"A lot more than you, obviously," Imoen snorted. "You sound like some superstitious Amnian bufflehead. An _eagle's splendor_ spell could make him more persuasive for a while, but nothing like mind control. Anything else couldn't be cast before hand, he'd have to see us first to have a target for the spell, and we certainly wouldn't try talking to him if he started casting a spell at us."

There was a small twitch in Silke's left eye. "I have no time for whatever nonsense you picked up from stories and passing fools and think is real, little girl," she growled, more than crossing the line where Imoen would allow Mijandra to step in.

"Don't talk to her like that," Mijandra said in a growl of her own – or the closest she came to one, anyway.

"I am a druid," Jaheira added, "and though there are differences between divine and arcane magic, there are enough similarities that I am certain Imoen's assessment is correct."

"I…agree with her as well," Garrick said quietly. "I am a bardic mage, and enchantment is our specialty. Everything she said is true."

Silke's mouth pinched tightly for a moment before breaking into a large apologetic smile. "Well than, I beg your forgiveness for my ignorance. I had no idea I was surrounded by such experts." Something in her tone and the tightness around her eyes told Mijandra she was rather irritated with the situation, as well. "I'm sure things will go so much smoother, now. Shall we go?"

The next several minutes were spent waiting outside as Silke had her horse readied and brought out from the stables under the inn. Between scanning the streets in front of them with an expression more akin to impatience than worry, she managed to find an astounding number of things wrong with the care of her horse and insisted on complaining to the inn's manager about each one, pounding the quarterstaff she carried – without any apparent competence in its use – into the cobblestones as she punctuated each sentence.

As such it was no surprise that they hadn't made any progress before three men appeared and started walking toward them. "Here they are now: Feldepost's thugs. Strike when I tell you to."

"Funny, none of them look like mages," Imoen noted suspiciously, but before Silke could respond the man leading the three newcomers spoke.

"Greeting Silke. We're here as you've asked, and we have the..." he began, though Silke loudly interrupted him.

"Don't try to threaten me! I won't be easy prey for you to beat on, I've brought friends!" she declared theatrically.

The other two men startled visibly, but their leader managed to keep a straighter face. "What are you talking about? It's Mersil, we're here with the gems that..."

"Shut up! There'll be no weaseling out of this one. STRIKE NOW! Kill them all!" The only motion after that was the shaking of Mersil's men while Mijandra, Imoen, Jaheira, and Khalid all turned to glare at Silke. "I said strike!" she shouted again, slightly less musical.

"No," Mijandra answered for the rest of them.

"You are my hirelings, you will do as I say, now STRIKE!!" she said in an outright screech.

"Just as they were your hirelings, yes?" Jaheira nodded towards the three men. "We do not want your money, plotter of murder." Turning fully towards the men she said, "But what was this about gems?"

"NO, THEY ARE MINE!!" Silke screamed with rage as she swung at Mijandra with her quarterstaff. Mijandra caught the feeble strike easily, wrenching the staff from the woman's hands. Her palm complained afterward, however, the blow hurting more than the woman's strength should have allowed. Not to be deterred, Silke drew a dagger from her belt and lunged at a surprised Imoen with another yell.

One blink later the dagger was embedded in Silke's stomach, Mijandra's hand on the hilt. The blade slipped soundlessly back into open air as Silke fell, disbelief warring with pain on her face.

"Oh, naeth…," one of Mersil's men said, then began repeating it several times.

"Th-th-that was unnecessary," Khalid admonished.

"She tried to kill Imoen," was all the explanation Mijandra thought necessary.

"If that was your only concern I cannot fault you, but this complicates matters considerably," Jaheira sighed. Mijandra didn't respond, only crouching down to clean the dagger on Silke's cloak.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Mersil came forward, "but could you kindly explain what on Toril is going on?"

"Whoa," Mijandra heard one of Mersil's men rasp into his hear, "careful, man. These guys are d-dangerous."

"Yeah, you see the way that one gutted that bitch?" the other added. "And she's s-still got the dagger." After hearing that Mijandra turned to look at them, and they both flinched. She quirked an eyebrow. Interesting. But she soon turned away to take more interest in checking on Imoen. "Damn, she's scary."

"Yeah, it's the quiet ones you gotta watch out for."

Mersil shooed away his men's comments and looked at Jaheira, waiting for an answer.

"Well, first let me ask you this…Mersil, was it?" Jaheira asked, and he nodded. "How much was Silke paying you for these gems?"

"Don't tell her!" came another rasp from his side, which he again ignored.

"Fifty gold."

"Well then, it seems she hoped to lower her expenses by hiring us to 'protect' her from you for a mere thirty gold," Jaheira responded.

Meanwhile, Marsil's left man whispered to the one on the right. "Oh naeth, she's getting' angry or something! Look at what she's doing with the dagger!" Mijandra's hand stopped. In what started as a lazy test of its balance she'd been twirling the dagger between her fingers without even realizing it.

"Naeth, she heard you!"

"Naeth!"

Without moving her head Mijandra focused her eyes on them. They flinched again. Very interesting.

Largely either oblivious or indifferent to the two men's plight, Jaheira and Mersil continued their conversation uninterrupted. "Well, I thank you for being the honest sort and not going along with it, then," Mersil said. "I, uh, don't suppose you'd be interested in buying the gems yourself, would you?"

"When the Flaming Fist will be showing up any moment now? No, I think not," Jaheira answered.

Mersil blinked. "You've got a mighty good point there, ma'am. Boys, I think it's time we got out of here." His men, Mijandra noted, were only too happy to comply.

* * *

Considering it was the second death they were responsible for in the space of a day, the Flaming Fist were very understanding. Imoen suspected they wouldn't have been so lenient if it were locals being killed, though.

Garrick was nowhere to be found, but Imoen's impression of him told her he hadn't been in on Silke's plot. He really was just a big puppy, after all. And that reminded her…

She walked closer to Jaheira, the four of them as a whole finally making their way out of Beregost. "Hey, Jaheira?"

"Yes, Imoen?" she acknowledged, sounding no more irritated than usual.

"Did you mean it when you said Garrick was handsome?"

Jaheira blinked before lifting a hand to rub her forehead. "What in the world kind of question is that?"

"Well, it's just I didn't find him that handsome at all."

Jaheira rolled her eyes. "That is to be expected, girl. Not all women have the same taste."

"Well, I haven't found any men all that handsome, actually," Imoen continued, somewhat quieter.

Jaheira took a bit longer to respond. "I am sure you will, give it time."

Imoen scratched her head. "If you say so. I mean, I like looking at you more than any man I've ever met," Imoen said frankly.

"What?!" Imoen started at Jaheira's strong reaction.

"Is that not normal?" she asked slowly.

"Of course not! It is completely unnatural and I will not be part of it! Do not speak of such things again!"

Imoen's mouth worked before she said angrily, "Hey, I was just sayin'! Mijandra is much prettier than you are! I'd rather talk to her about it, anyway!"

Grumbling, Imoen fell back beside Mijandra, who she was sure had overheard the entire conversation. She wasn't sure, however, whether that was a good thing or not.

* * *

Thoughts ran through Jaheira's head with maddening speed, though two recurred regularly. The first was that she hadn't handled that situation particularly well.

The second was one of Gorion's letters to her and Khalid. It mentioned some eccentricities that had developed in Mijandra and Imoen's relationship. Khalid had always thought Gorion was implying something about Mijandra and Imoen's…inclinations – only he would call it less implying and more "clearly stating" – but Jaheira refused to see it.

Now, however, Jaheira had to wonder if Khalid might have been right.


	12. Should Have

**Chapter 12 – Should Have**

_To My Dear Distinguished Colleagues:_

_I fear I may have backed myself into a corner._

_It seems Veil's candidness our past outing was not entirely selfless, but was born of the hope that I would be just as forthcoming in return. All at once she seems to have become adamant in her desire to know who her birth parents are; knowledge I cannot in good conscience grant her yet._

_This has upset her greatly, though less due to being denied the knowledge she seeks than the feeling that I treated her unfairly. She has begun to come around since I pointed out that it is unfair to expect me to uphold a 'deal' I was never allowed to disagree to, but for a time I had the unpleasant experience of feeling she was disappointed in me._

_Laugh not those of you without children. Trust me; it is not a look any parent could stand to see in their child's eyes._

_Sincerely,_  
_Gorion_

* * *

"Hm. Yes, it does seem to be magical," Jaheira said as she examined the quarterstaff Mijandra had taken from Silke. Capped on each end with silver covered in delicate leaf work, it certainly looked like the kind of weapon to be magical.

"Woohoo!" Imoen shouted with a jump. "How magical?" she asked, continuing to bounce on her heels.

"Have patience and you will find out," Jaheira growled without shifting her gaze from the staff.

Though she hadn't practiced with a quarterstaff in some time, Mijandra had found herself able to spin this one with surprising ease. After Mijandra noted this and the unexpected strength behind Silke's attack to Imoen, the girl immediately sought Jaheira to cast some magic-detecting spell or other on the staff.

Imoen grunted in irritation at the delay. "Quicker than _identify_, at least," Mijandra heard her mumble, though as usual – or always – when Imoen talked magic-talk, understanding was a different matter.

"It is only a faint aura," Jaheira finally said, looking up. 

Whatever that meant, it didn't seem to disappoint Imoen in the slightest. "Unless it's hiding its real aura, of course, because it's really powerful and evil and cursed and stuff," she suggested, bouncing even more in strange glee at the possibility.

"Yes, found in the hands of such an incompetent waif as this was I can see how you would be worried about such a thing," Jaheira said less than seriously.

Imoen paused long enough to stick her tongue out before saying, "But it's probably just +1, then, right?"

Jaheira's mouth twisted slightly as if tasting something disagreeable. "Yes, probably."

"What is +1?" Mijandra asked. If she was to be 'adventuring' now she should probably know something about magic arms. Hopefully Imoen would try to give a coherent answer.

Imoen grinned. Usually not a good sign. "It's a measurement of basic magical enhancement." And this grin was no exception. Mijandra blinked. Imoen rolled her eyes and giggled. "Oh c'mon, sis, it's not that hard. It's…this!" she said, taking the staff from Jaheira's loose grip. "You felt how this was different from a normal quarterstaff. Well+2 is even better. And +3 even _better_. Eventually it's like you barely even hafta think before the weapon moves, so I read."

Jaheira shook her head. "A measure doubtlessly invented by wizards; it is almost vulgarly blunt in its practicality."

Imoen cocked her head at Jaheira, an eyebrow raised. "You almost sound like a bard, Jaheira," she said, laughing lightly. But the laughter halted quickly and her eyes suddenly hardened as she turned away, idly studying the quarterstaff she now held. "But no," she shook her head, "You're not pretty enough to be a bard."

Mijandra frowned. Imoen was not usually spiteful for this long or this openly. After having several hours since that morning to cool off, not to mention emptying Jaheira's pack at lunch while she and Khalid weren't looking and hiding its contents evenly throughout the surrounding foliage before replacing the displaced items with sand, all in just under two minutes – Mijandra was rather impressed, and got a kiss for saying as much – Mijandra thought Imoen would have gotten over Jaheira's outburst by now; whether she wanted to or not.

From the brief look of surprise on Jaheira's face, it seemed she had thought the same. "Yes, I would have to agree with you," she finally replied, her voice cool.

"Really?" Imoen asked, glancing at Jaheira a moment. "How completely unnatural of you," she continued mildly, eyes returned to the staff.

Jaheira outright scowled at Imoen for a few moments more before declaring, "Fine! Act like…a child, then!" and then walked away forcefully to sit next to Khalid by the logs that would be their fire once the evening grew cool enough to warrant it.

Mijandra and Imoen looked at each other. The air remained heavy even in Jaheira's absence, Mijandra wondering if she could do anything to help resolve the conflict and if she even should. She would like to know just what Jaheira had meant by any of what she said that morning. What exactly _it_ was that was so unnatural. Jaheira had heard something in Imoen's words, words which easily echoed Mijandra's own experience. She'd understood something in them; something she judged harshly.

Not that Mijandra was worried in the least whether Jaheira's judgment was correct. It was meaningless; natural or unnatural was meaningless. But whatever it was Jaheira thought she had understood…maybe if Mijandra understood it, too, she would understand other things, as well. '_Like…the lake.'_

That thought led back to Imoen and the increasingly tense silence between them. Mijandra had been staring into her eyes, which normally caused anything but tension, but this time, with these thoughts, was different. Mijandra finally turned her eyes elsewhere, and they fell on the quarterstaff. She thought of a question.

"So magic weapons just have a number? For how much better they are?" That was pretty simple, now that she understood.

"Oh, no," Imoen said, somewhat startled by the sudden end to the silence as well as the choice of subject. "Magic stuff can have lots of different numbers and measurements. But I think they're mostly just for, uh, 'betterness' and abstract stuff like that. If a sword is glowing or flaming or whatever, then you can just say 'it glows' or 'it's on fire all the time'," she concluded with a shrug.

Mijandra nodded, only slightly irritated things had to be more complex than she thought.

"So…," Imoen started, seeming nervous. "Can you teach me to use this?" she asked, giving the quarterstaff a shake.

Mijandra's eyebrows twitched in surprise, then lowered as she crossed her arms. "You've already trained this long with a sword and you're barely passable. You want to start over again?" 

"Please?" Imoen pleaded. "I can defend myself better with it, can't I? It's bigger. And the sword just really isn't for me." She hesitated a moment before continuing in a softer voice, her eyes averted. "I don't like cuttin' stuff."

Mijandra's eyebrows gave another surprised twitch. She had noticed this aversion of Imoen's before but this was the first time the girl had ever said anything. And Mijandra thought that swords at least didn't bother her, since she'd held one many times without complaint. A chef's knife on the other hand, she wouldn't touch unless she absolutely had to, and she tried to avoid even looking at one whenever possible.

So why force herself to use a sword for so long? Mijandra stepped closer to Imoen, putting a hand under her chin and guiding Imoen's gaze to hers. Pretty eyes. Shame and irritation were there, in her eyes and face; aimed inward. Mijandra had seen that look before. On that first day, when Imoen needed help to climb the wardrobe. And many more times since then, each when Imoen had failed to do something Mijandra could do. It was always a surprise, the things Imoen could get insecure over.

Tilting Imoen's head down, Mijandra leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Okay," she said. 

"Yay!" Imoen chirped as she tackled Mijandra in a hug, laughing at her own childishness. Mijandra smiled and softly laughed with her.

* * *

"Impossible girl!" Jaheira rasped for the fourth time. She'd reacted badly to what Imoen said that morning, yes, but she had clearly shown a much more moderate temper since then. She'd even managed to act as if Imoen's nature did not bother her, treating her no differently than she had before. So there was no call for the girl's continued animosity!

Jaheira had not apologized, no, but it's not as if it would mean anything if she did. She still believed everything she'd said, even if she regretted the harshness with which she had said it. So there was nothing to apologize for. Or very little, anyway. Far too little for any reasonable person to actually insist on the effort.

Jaheira ground her teeth as her attention was drawn to another source of irritation. She had been fuming for at least three minutes now and complained aloud four times with Khalid sitting right next to her, and he'd yet to do or say anything. He would normally be trying to soothe her immediately!

She turned to look at him and saw his eyes staring intently in the direction from which she had come just a few minutes before. Following his gaze she saw Mijandra, crouched at her pack and withdrawing the poles she and Imoen used as practice swords. "You are fortunate I am not the type to be jealous, or I might take issue with you staring at a girl almost half your age," Jaheira said in a calm voice that Khalid certainly knew meant she wasn't calm.

Khalid started, his mouth working as his face turned red. "I-I w-w-w-wasn't– w-would never!" 

"I very well know that!" Jaheira shouted. "But why **have** you been staring at her like a fool at a zoo for the past two days?!" She'd noticed his preoccupation, and had more than a good idea what the reasons were behind it, but she honestly expected him to have recovered by now. 

"I-I-I c-can't h-help it!," Khalid stammered. "Sh-she's a B-…" He cringed at whatever he was going to say. "She's a m-m…," he tried again with a new word, though he still seemed to be lacking the air to finish. 

"Monster?" Jaheira offered, and his head jerked weakly in a nod. She normally tried not to finish his words for him, but normally he wasn't this much of a fool and more deserving of the consideration. "We do not know that." Khalid opened his mouth to speak but Jaheira cut him off. "Even if my suspicions are true we do not know that."

Khalid looked at her as if she had lost her mind. Jaheira narrowed her eyes.

"Do you assume every half-orc a monster? Every drow? Every fiend-touched?"

"Th-that is-"

"And what of the reverse? Paladins fall. Druids turn to shadow. Lathanderites turn away from the sun."

"Th-those are all m-m-mortal struggles!" Khalid argued.

"And? Have you forgotten even 'mere' mortals can ascend?" Khalid's mouth stilled as he processed this, but Jaheira was not done yet. "You remember **he** was mortal once. So was the Black Sun, who has proven to be more wicked than all of his predecessors combined. And now there is this Kelemvor, the new god of death. Another mortal, in a position that has known nothing but evil for centuries, but by all appearances he has turned against that tide. The powers of the gods are neither immovable nor absolute."

Khalid sighed, taking another moment to gather his thoughts. "You assume that M-Mijandra can resist, then?"

Jaheira shook her head. "No, I do not. This is a unique situation and it is quite possible, even likely, that she could not. But I will wait and see before I cast judgment. We owe Gorion nothing less."

Jaheira saw him close his eyes briefly in guilt. Still, he pressed on. "She already k-kills thoughtlessly. That w-w-woman was d-disarmed and helpless." 

Jaheira frowned. "That fool bard? She tried to kill her sister – and nearly succeeded, having taken Imoen by surprise. I'd have done the same if someone came as close to killing you, and I would not care if they were disarmed, or helpless, or even a fellow Harper!" Jaheira looked away then, missing whatever expression followed the initial shock on Khalid's face. "And were my sisters alive I imagine I would do the same for them, as well." '_Though that might not be the perfect analogy to Mijandra and Imoen's relationship_,' her thoughts reminded her.

She turned back to Khalid and saw only concern in his features. Such was often the case when she brought up her family. But it seemed his worries over Mijandra were still not laid to rest, for he had more to voice. "She still k-kills far too easily for s-someone so young."

"I do not disagree with that," Jaheira shook her head ruefully. "But though it is unfortunate it is quite easy to understand why. Just from what Gorion had told us we know she has endured things that force one to grow up quickly – and it seems what Gorion told us was very little indeed."

Khalid still did not look fully convinced. "She was t-training to fight long before th-that man…Koga, was it?"

Jaheira nodded. "Yes, I believe she started shortly after Imoen was nearly killed by a goblin," she stated serenely, and had to hide her amusement as Khalid deflated visibly.

"I had forgotten that," he confessed. "B-but even so…the dedication Gorion described in his letters was d-disturbing, and he'd been t-trying to make light of it."

"It is the same dedication as he described her having for everything else she ever bothered to do. The same dedication that has her purposely falling out of trees to practice landing," she added with a hint of incredulity. "And I know _we_ both have more than enough memories of daily weapon drills in our own childhoods." 

A smile flickered on Khalid's lips in spite of himself. "Yes, but I was t-training in a militia and you to be a p-protector of nature," he countered, though the briefly-seen smile remained in his voice. "I hardly had the p-passion to train so hard of my own accord, let al-lone harder." He paused then, and when he spoke again all mirth was gone from his voice. "N-not even b-back then… B-…bef-f-fore." 

Jaheira sighed and took one of his hands in hers. "Well, I did take to practicing my own martial skills more than I was required, but I am sure the standards of a militia are different from those of a druid circle," she said quietly, electing not to change the subject. Khalid would not have appreciated it; he disliked being treated as glass as much as she did.

Khalid nodded slowly, releasing a sigh of his own. "I s-suppose I have not been fair to Mijandra. But the p-possibility is frightening."

"It is," Jaheira agreed.

"And it would be m-much easier if she weren't so…s-strange."

Jaheira raised an eyebrow. "You expect to meet anyone normal in this life?"

Khalid chuckled. "You have a point."

"Indeed, I do. Honestly, Khalid, she is not that different from me. Except that I tend to be quite a bit louder than she is." Khalid outright laughed at that, and Jaheira smiled. "At any rate, perhaps you would feel better if you spoke with her?" 

"Wha- I…ab-bout what?" he tried to ask in a casual voice, with little success.

"About what worries you, of course. You have…faced similar trials to hers. And you are still a warrior, Khalid, though one with a better-developed conscience than most. Talk to her as one. Find out what kind of warrior _she_ is."

"I d-don't know…"

"To be honest I would like to know as well," Jaheira continued as if he hadn't spoken. "She went to do some training with Imoen not long ago, if you can catch her still practicing it would be the perfect opportunity." 

"I…"

Jaheira gave Khalid a light smack on the shoulder. "What are you still waiting for, you nitwit? Move already! Go!"

Khalid swiftly got to his feet and dazedly walked off in Mijandra's direction, Jaheira frowning as she heard what sounded suspiciously like an exasperated chuckle fading away along with his footsteps.

* * *

"Good," Mijandra said, though without any of the feeling it had when she really meant it. Imoen knew she wouldn't be hearing _that_ for a while yet. For now 'good' was just a nice way of saying, "You didn't screw up." But that was the language of training, it seemed. All trainers were like that, not just Mijandra.

Imoen had spent the first few minutes deliberately misunderstanding Mijandra's instructions, until Mijandra finally had to reach around Imoen from behind and physically force her to hold and move the quarterstaff properly. Which Imoen decided was even more fun than watching Mijandra try to hide her laughter and look annoyed at the same time, so she continued to act the fool for a few minutes more; right until some of Mijandra's irritation started looking genuine.

Now they were training in earnest, Mijandra making lazy strikes with a pole for Imoen to practice deflecting. "Good," Mijandra said after another trio of successful guards. "No," came soon after, however, as Imoen blocked again. "Never cross the staff in front of your legs."

"It worked, didn't it?" Imoen asked just to be contrary, deflecting another blow as Mijandra hadn't felt the need to stop practice just to provide criticism.

"Because I'm giving you more time than you would have in a real fight," Mijandra answered, and Imoen just knew she was going to start picking up the pace soon. "Reverse the staff over," she continued. "It's faster and you won't trip yourself." An abridged explanation, as Imoen had already received the full one.

Just as predicted, Mijandra's attacks started to come faster after that. Not that there was any reason for Imoen to worry, yet, as faster was still far from fast with the slow pace they'd started from. Unfortunately, Imoen immediately found herself worrying anyway. It was one of those ironic moments when one's fear of failure turns them into a bumbling fool, causing them to fail before the task even became as difficult as they feared it would. Imoen liked to laugh at such moments, sometimes even when they happened to herself. Not, however, when they resulted in her dropping a heavy wooden stick – with metal caps – on her foot. Especially if she had needed that stick to block another heavy – if much shorter – stick from striking her in the head.

"Owww!" Imoen said, before suddenly wondering what it would be like to have two heads. Then she would be able to say, "Owww," for both her sources of pain at the same time. And she'd have one head that didn't hurt. Though whether that would really make her feel better as a whole she wasn't sure. She'd have to find an Ettin willing to experiment. Until then, she was at least sure that if she had two heads, one of them could be paying attention to what was going on around her while the other wasted time on bizarre fancies.

As it turned out what was going on was Mijandra stepping in just as Imoen's rear was about to make a deliberately rapid descent to the ground – it was much easier, not to mention safer, to hold your foot and whine from a sitting position after all, especially if your coordination is suffering from a recent blow to the head. But Imoen's rear instead found itself being carried, along with the rest of her, to a nearby tree and gently set on the ground where Imoen could lean against it.

"I'm sorry, Im, I didn't mean to." The volume wasn't any different, and her words came out at the same pace as always, but the contrition in Mijandra's voice sliced through Imoen's thoughts nonetheless, any distraction she still suffered coming to a quick and merciless end. The contrition was on Mijandra's face, as well, and in her eyes; just moments away from overflowing onto her cheek.

"Hey, it's okay," Imoen said soothingly, her arms going around Mijandra's neck. "I know that." She pulled Mijandra down into a hug, the elf following willingly or just too distracted to resist – Imoen could not have budged her in any other case. "Was just an accident," Imoen whispered.

"My accident. My fault," Mijandra insisted. This was the first time she had ever hit Imoen on the head. She had aimed for it plenty of times, but Imoen guessed she never tried very hard. Whenever she seriously tried to get around Imoen's defenses, it was always to strike below the neck. '_Which may not make for the best training_,' Imoen conceded, '_but hey, I'm her little sis_.'

"Well, I forgive you then, okay?" Imoen countered. Mijandra sniffed then pulled back, eyes glancing briefly at Imoen's before looking intently over the side of Imoen's head she hit with the pole. "Hey, yer messin' up my hair," Imoen complained facetiously as Mijandra searched through it. Then there was a gentle touch and a sharp pain. "Ow!" '_Yep, I think she found it.'_

Mijandra turned her face down as her other hand touched Imoen's forehead, and the familiar healing magic spread through her. Mijandra surreptitiously wiped an arm across her eyes before looking up again. "All better!" Imoen tried to say cheerily, but Mijandra only nodded and sat down beside her quietly. Needless to say Imoen wouldn't be receiving any more training today. "Heh, we don't even know if your power works on anyone besides me, yet," Imoen continued, undeterred. "Bet if you got in a fight with Jaheira we could find out, though." She grinned. "You'd knock her head off."

Mijandra let out a short – very short – laugh, and Imoen wanted to dance like it was Midsummer. "Seems like you're the one who wants to get in a fight with her," Mijandra replied.

Imoen put on an affronted face. "That would hardly be lady-like."

Mijandra gave a small snort. "And?" 

Imoen scowled. "Are you insinuating that I regularly exhibit unlady-like behavior?"

After appearing to think a moment Mijandra nodded slowly. "Yes." 

"Hey! I'm wearing a dress aren't I?" 

"That's shorter than my shirt," Mijandra responded, glancing down to look between them. "Almost. And you're wearing pants under it." All of which had been Mijandra's idea in the first place, but Imoen ignored that. They weren't arguing over whether it had been a good idea, after all.

"Your shirts are huge," Imoen countered. "And it's short because _I_ shortened it, see?" She pulled the hem as close to Mijandra's eye level as she could while wearing armor. "With needle and thread. Like a girl does." Mijandra took a moment to look over the frayed edges and wandering stitches, not to mention the uneven slant of the cut – which Imoen had absolutely and entirely done on purpose – before returning her eyes to Imoen's face and just silently raising an eyebrow. "Oh, like you could do any better!" Imoen huffed.

"I don't claim to be lady-like," Mijandra said calmly, while trying to hide the shaking of her shoulders.

But Imoen saw it, and could feel herself go into a frenzy. '_Like a shark that smells blood in the water_,' her imaginary second head commented. "Well it's a good thing, because you're **not**!" she replied with an ostentatious poke to Mijandra's arm. "**So** not, that if you **did** claim it, it would be the **silliest** thing **anyone** had **ever** said, **ever**! And the God of Silliness, who I think is secretly Deneir, would come down and take you to be his **husband**!" Mijandra received another poke for every emphasized word. "**Husband**, because you're **so**…" Poke. "**Not**." Poke. "**Lady**." Poke. "**Like**!" Poke. Mijandra's lips were a thin line as small tremors shook her entire body. 

"Laugh!!" Imoen finally demanded outright, grabbing Mijandra's shoulder with her poking-hand. Mijandra's jaw quivered, but her mouth stayed shut as she forcefully shook her head. "Laugh, damn it!" Imoen ordered again, sitting up higher to try and seem more authoritative, but Mijandra again shook her head in refusal, Imoen reflexively fluttering her eyes against a few loose strands of hair that brushed her face. Finally Imoen got onto her knees and then twisted to sit in Mijandra's lap. "Laa-aa-aa-aa-augh!!" she pleaded as she shook Mijandra by the shoulders, but Mijandra just looked away, her mouth pinched but still not giving in. "Fine then. You leave me no choice."

Moments later Mijandra finally shrieked with laughter, and did not stop until Imoen was satisfied. She'd had this armor for months now, after all, and Imoen had figured out – after much trial and error – how to tickle passed it on the first day.

* * *

Mijandra's laughter reached Khalid not long after he left Jaheira's sight, where he had stopped for a moment – several moments, actually – to try and prepare himself. The sound of it was quite a shock, somehow by its sheer normalcy more than anything else. It seemed when Mijandra did laugh, she laughed just like anybody else; and apparently could be just as loud doing it as well. He found himself smiling involuntarily as he listened to it, much as he – and most anyone else – always did at the sound of laughter.

Khalid would rather not interrupt it. And he needed time to think first before he could hope to perform the task Jaheira set him on. Indeed, they were both warriors. Indeed, he and she had both suffered captivity. And indeed, it seemed impossible for such laughter to come from a corrupted soul. 

He needed time to think.

* * *

"Alianna."

"Huh?" Imoen's head turned in its place against Mijandra's shoulder.

"My mother's name. It's Alianna."

"It is?!" Imoen gasped as she braced a hand against Mijandra's chest to push herself up. Mijandra nodded. "How'd you find out? When?" she asked, facing Mijandra from her seat in her lap. 

"Jaheira said it two nights ago."

"What?" Her face scrunched in confusion, quite adorably Mijandra thought. "When did she tell you? And why'd ya wait so long to tell me?"

"I don't know." She really didn't, exactly. There were many possible reasons, but which of them were **the** reasons she couldn't be sure. There was the memory of how foolish and, to be honest, even cruel the desire to know her birth parents had made her, and the effect that had on her last years with Gorion. Part of her questioned if she even deserved to know about them after that. But a larger part of her wondered if it might somehow be cursed knowledge, the pursuit of it certain to only cause more misery.

Then there was the fact that Gorion refused to tell her for so long, combined with Jaheira's sudden withdrawal from the fire that night just as she was drawing connections between Mijandra's parentage and the red ice. The red ice and the darkness from which it came, awakened within her by eyes of fire. Then cryptic words spoken in secret that had filled Khalid with a fear that did not diminish with the passing days. And three years. Three years she spent in a cage, without a name. All of it was connected, and all of it suggested the answer to who her parents were may be dark indeed. Something terrifying; something unimaginable. It would have to be, for losing Imoen was the only truly terrifying thing Mijandra could imagine.

Then there was Alliana. Who was she? What happened to her for Mijandra to have to spend the first years of her life as she had? And…who was Alliana to Gorion? Just how much had Mijandra really hurt her father six years ago? _"I should have been!"_ The words rose from her memory with ease, loud and rough where his voice was normally so much the opposite. '_You are_,' she wished she could tell him. '_No matter who conceived me, you are_.'

And then there was how she found out. From Jaheira. Not Gorion. Because Gorion was not there. That, and everything before, everything about this, period – every thought it inspired, every memory it invoked – fought to be the cruelest reminder that her father was gone. Even now she could feel her eyes grow hot and her chest seize. She didn't want to cry. Not like that. Never again.

Varied reasons, yet they did all share one thing. "I was afraid," she answered Imoen. The human girl's face showed surprise, but it was quickly replaced by concern. Mijandra being afraid was a race occurrence; her confessing it even more so.

"And Jaheira didn't tell me," Mijandra continued. "I overheard her talking to Khalid."

"What?!" Imoen shouted, then made a quick sheepish look over her shoulder. Satisfied no one was listening, she turned back to hiss between clenched teeth, "She knows who your parents are and she hasn't told you?!"

"She knows who my mother is. My…father she wasn't sure, but she had a guess that she didn't speak aloud. Something to do with one of Alaundo's prophecies."

Imoen jerked in Mijandra's lap. "No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "No, no, that can't be right." A few fingers came to rest against her temple. "I mean, we only read a few, but Alaundo's prophecies are all big, nasty stuff. And we've only been adventuring for a few days!" The hand left her temple to make a few frantic gestures in the air. "It's way too soon for us to have to deal with _any_ prophecies, let alone one of **his**!"

Mijandra wrapped her arms around Imoen then leaned back against the tree, stroking a hand through Imoen's hair for her own benefit as much as Imoen's. "What prophecies do you remember?" Mijandra couldn't remember any herself, having only read them because it was required of all disciples of Candlekeep, and she and Imoen were put through most of the same studies the aspiring monks were.

Imoen sighed, taking a moment to respond. "Something about seven scourges and a door ya can't close," she finally answered, now sounding more sullen than afraid. Mijandra smiled, relaxing considerably. Already the possibility of impending doom had changed from terrifying to merely irritating; Imoen would probably start growing excited next, if the supposed doom weren't related to such a personal matter as Mijandra's parentage. "Nother one about a sparrow divided, who eats a shadow and then eats, um…a bunch of other birds?" she continued in a muffled and slightly nasally voice, her nose pressed to Mijandra's chest. "And I remember reading about rabbits not wanting to be rich but I'm not sure that was Alaundo." Imoen lifted her head. "Uh, but even if the prophecy itself doesn't sound all that scary – or, uh, coherent – what it actually means always is. I think."

Mijandra nodded. "Okay." 

Mijandra's arms slid from around Imoen as the girl got up. "So we gonna go force Jaheira to tell the rest of it, now?" 

The elf wondered if Imoen could see her shiver. That fear again. Coming from so many places at once, and all the stronger for it. "Soon," she answered vaguely. 

"Soon?" Imoen sounded mildly incredulous. Mijandra saw she had a hand held out to help her up, which made a grin twitch on her face despite her looming fears.

"Soon," she confirmed and took Imoen's hand, then openly grinned as Imoen grunted uselessly trying to lift her while Mijandra just sat there, not exerting any effort whatsoever.

"Get up, you stink!" Imoen finally shouted, kicking the bottom of Mijandra's boot – an action she would have rather regretted if Mijandra hadn't healed her foot earlier. Mijandra chuckled softly as she complied. "Oh, sure, laugh at your poor weakling sister why don't you?" she heard her mumble, though in a tone that let Mijandra know her eyes were smiling.

Seeking the time, Mijandra turned to see where the sun was on the horizon. Half an hour at least before sunset, she guessed. There was still enough light, and the wind a good calm cooling breeze. She was drawing two of her swords almost before she realized it.

In her left hand was the sword she'd had since she was thirteen. Four years later its 16 inch blade might as well be a dagger for her; and that was exactly the use she intended to put it to. Her right hand held one of the swords she'd taken from the bandits. Its 24 inch blade had a fresh edge from the blacksmith at the Friendly Arm, but she hadn't had much opportunity to practice with it yet.

The rolling of Imoen's eyes was almost audible. "Still not sweaty enough for one day, huh?"

Mijandra fought a smirk. "Never." Imoen sighed and tisked as Mijandra moved away to have more space, beginning the basic forms that by now came to her as naturally as breathing.

At the same time she watched Imoen step over to the fallen quarterstaff, leaning over to pick it up before scowling at it. "Make a fool of me, will you? You're magical; you're supposed to make me better."

Mijandra frowned thoughtfully as she rehearsed an aggressive counterattack. "We really should have been training with a normal quarterstaff."

"Yeah yeah," Imoen said dismissively. Returning to their tree, she settled in to watch Mijandra practice.

* * *

Khalid took a deep breath before finally resuming his search for Mijandra.

It did not take him long to find her, performing drills alone with a sword and long dagger. Imoen sat at the base of a tree nearby, watching Mijandra with strangely rapt attention. Having had little fortune with women before Jaheira, and not being very keen on watching as another had fortune in his place, it was not the sort of gaze he saw often; but with the number of years he'd lived he still managed to see it often enough to recognize it now.

Therefore, courtesy dictated he look away; and that before he announce himself he try to remove the patronizing grin that those with sufficient years always had when they saw signs of ardor among those still young. Clearing his throat, he said, "Ah, h-hello there."

Facing forward again, Khalid saw Imoen turning her head as well to look at him. However, other than a brief flick of her eyes Mijandra did not yet acknowledge his presence. "Heya, Khalid," Imoen said with a hint of surprise.

He supposed that was natural after the way he'd been acting recently. "H-how is it going with you two?" he asked, as what he assumed was a perfectly inconspicuous conversation starter.

Imoen cocked an eyebrow nonetheless. "Well, Mijandra did try to dash by brains out with a club earlier." Khalid looked alarmed until Imoen pointed laughing eyes in Mijandra's direction, returning them to him before saying, "But other than that we're doin' great."

"I see," he said nervously, turning to watch Mijandra's practice. Attacks flowed from her sword arm as she moved forward, risking an occasional quick thrust from her dagger while her imaginary opponent was on the defensive before returning it to a loose guard. Deciding he could wait until later to mention her dagger attacks came at too-regular intervals, Khalid tried starting with something more positive. "V-very good." Though not particularly clever.

Again Mijandra gave him but a brief glance, though she did at least speak this time. "Not yet."

"Yeah, Khalid," Imoen added as if to a child, though with just the right kind of smile to remove any sting. "This is only the first time she's used that sword. So of course she's completely awful, no matter how much it's just like any other bloody sword in the world. Right, sis?" 

"Right," Mijandra answered with a small grin as she made a horizontal slice at her opponent's throat; a combination of images Khalid found eminently disturbing.

"Y-you are quite dedicated," he observed once he recovered; another comment Mijandra found little need to respond to. "Do you l-like fighting?"

Mijandra paused in a defensive position. Khalid saw Imoen tilt her head at him out of the corner of his eye. Resuming her practice, Mijandra answered, "Yes."

"W-why?" Khalid heard himself immediately ask. Imoen frowned, but it was just the first of the words that would come tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. "P-p-p-people get…h-hurt!" 

Mijandra's practice slowed to a stop. Crossing her arms, Imoen demanded, "Hey, what're you doin', Khalid?" 

Her weapons now held passively at her sides, Mijandra turned to face him and said, "I do not like fighting."

Khalid opened his mouth to speak. When it didn't seem to work, he swallowed and then tried again. "Y-y-you've ch-changed your mind?" he asked.

Mijandra shook her head. "You changed the question," she answered. "I like…sweating," she said thoughtfully, looking away. "I like making my heart beat fast. I like getting better at things." She looked down at the blades in her hands. "I like to practice fighting. That doesn't hurt anybody." She glanced briefly at Imoen, quietly murmuring, "Shouldn't." In a clearer voice she continued, "I don't like hurting anyone."

Finally her eyes returned to Khalid with a look he couldn't quite identify. "But sometimes it's necessary," she finished calmly, and soon returned to her practice as though she'd never left it.

Khalid couldn't help wondering if she was challenging him somehow, but it didn't exactly feel that way. There was little to wonder about the glare Imoen was giving him, though. "What reasons ya have ta think Mijandra likes hurtin' people, huh?" 

For some reason, the sudden thickening of Imoen's east-Amnian accent struck Khalid as particularly intimidating. "I-I…uh…"

"Somethin' Alaundo toldya, maybe?"

Mijandra's practice stopped in mid-motion, her foot hovering in the air with knee just slightly bent to return it to the ground after making a side kick at her opponent's hip. A move Khalid might have admitted would have taken him by surprise; if he'd actually seen it. As it was, he was much too busy trying to get his **thoughts** to stop stuttering to have noticed.

* * *

"So, Mijandra overheard Khalid and I speaking that night?" Jaheira asked, hoping she'd finally pieced together the story a panicked Khalid and irate Imoen were trying to tell her. Fortunately, she kept herself from pointedly adding, 'Privately,' to the end of the question. It probably would not have helped the situation.

"Yeah!" Imoen answered, veritably steaming. "So ya better tell us who Mijandra's parents are, and what they have ta do with Alaundo's prophecies!" Fortunately, Jaheira kept herself from laughing at the sight of the fifteen-year-old looking ready to take someone's head off. It probably would not have helped the situation.

"I cannot say who her father is–"

"Badaulder! You got some idea! Enough ta make Khalid act all buffleheaded since then."

"If you will let me finish," Jaheira said only half as forcefully as she wanted to. "I have an **idea**, yes; I was not about to deny that. But it is a wild, almost ludicrous idea based far too much on circumstance, and precious little of it at that."

"So?" Imoen countered.

"So–," Jaheira started, but then Mijandra was speaking.

"If your idea was true…would it let us do anything? About the visions and…other things if they come back?"

Jaheira thought about it for a moment before shaking her head. "No, I very seriously doubt it would."

Mijandra crossed her arms on top of her knees, shielding her face behind them. "Then I'll wait until you're more sure."

Imoen and Jaheira's eyes both widened in surprise, Imoen turning to say something but unable to do more than move her mouth soundlessly at Mijandra while the elf refused to look at her. "Fine," she finally conceded with a huff. Turning back to Jaheira, she said, "Then what about her mom? Some reason ya 'can't say' about her, either?"

"No," Jaheira said absently, watching as Mijandra seemed to curl up even tighter at the question. She didn't say anything, however, so Jaheira continued. "She was an elven priestess of…" The druid looked to her husband for assistance, and they both spent a moment in concentration.

"A-Angharradh, wasn't it?" Khalid offered a second later.

Jaheira nodded. "Yes, I believe you are correct."

"Angharradh?" Imoen badly mispronounced.

"Spring, planting, fertility, birth, and defense," Mijandra said into the inside of her elbow. 

Jaheira blinked. "Ah…yes. I could only recall spring and defense."

"So is it a god or a goddess?" Imoen asked. "Although…I guess birth kinda answers that already, huh?"

"She's three goddesses," Mijandra said.

"Oh," Imoen said, nodding slowly before giving a loud, "Huh?"

Still talking into her arms, Mijandra answered, "Angharradh is the merged aspect of Aerdrie Faenya, Hanali Celanil, and Sehan–" 

"Alright, nevermind," Imoen said, shaking her head. "Let's get back to Mijandra's mom." 

Jaheira waited a moment with an eye on Mijandra before acquiescing. "Khalid and I never met Alianna ourselves; she was highly honored in Evereska and did not leave the city often, and we never had reason to travel so far north."

"Gorion could always f-find a reason to, though," Khalid said with small grin, which Jaheira soon shared.

"Indeed, and at least four reasons why he had to go alone."

"And _twice_ that for why he was always d-delayed in returning."

Jaheira actually had to fight a fit of laughter before she could continue speaking. "He never explicitly said as much, but there was little question the two were lovers."

At the last word Mijandra jerked as if struck. Jaheira and Khalid's merriment died in an instant. "Mijandra?" Imoen began, concern bordering on fear as she looked at her sister now shaking next to her.

The elf's only response was to stand and retreat towards a large tree near the side of the road, at a walk that clearly looked like it wanted to be a run.

* * *

"Sis?" Imoen called, looking up into the tree where she could see the shape of Mijandra still climbing. She stopped and turned her head, and though Imoen couldn't see her eyes in the fading light and the shadows of the leaves, she had little doubt Mijandra was looking right at her.

She quickly climbed back down to an almost level area formed by where the trunk divided into the tree's main branches. It was only about five feet up, and Mijandra came to the edge and stretched her hand down to Imoen. At this distance Imoen could see the silver of Mijandra's eyes with ease, and what she saw there left little question of whether she would accept the invitation.

Without a sound Mijandra pulled her up, and then they were holding each other, Mijandra's back to a branch that rose aggressively enough to sit against. She continued to shake with what Imoen thought were sobs, but the only sounds she made were two words, spoken in a desperate whisper. Words Imoen needed little imagination to realize were meant for someone besides her.

"You are…you are…"


End file.
